


start over

by brainworm



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Angst with a Happy Ending, Exes, Fae & Fairies, Getting Back Together, M/M, side hyunlix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:01:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 50,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26596483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brainworm/pseuds/brainworm
Summary: “My entire existence is built on a lie,” says Seungmin. “I’m sure speaking a couple won’t hurt.”“Prove it.” Minho leans forward in his seat. “Is the sky purple?”“Of course,” Seungmin answers smoothly.“Fair enough,” says Minho, sitting back upright. "Good to know you can lie openly to my face. Really makes me feel at ease."Seungmin rolls his eyes for the second time in one minute.My (23M) new friends are trying to get me to save a changeling boy (almost 21M) from being taken back to Faery in less than ten days. How do I break it to them that he's my ex?
Relationships: Kim Seungmin/Lee Minho | Lee Know
Comments: 66
Kudos: 265





	start over

**Author's Note:**

> or, 9 22 is 승민's Birthday. Please congratulate 승민's Birthday 🎉 . please
> 
> note:  
> \- all ages mentioned are korean ages, so seungmin is still turning 20 internationally!  
> \- most fae lore in this piece have real world inspirations, but some stuff is still made up  
> 
> 
> [🌲 fic playlist 🌲](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7JTC3L8MeTbHeQkcuMeycz?si=_jbXeNCJS6STSIEbKhzuWA)
> 
> shout outs to:  
> \- n, my heart-beta, who will never actually see this bc they're not even stay but they read the whole thing anyway!!!!!  
> \- h, for liking it and crying about it and also bc this isnt us but it still cracks me up to think about it  
> \- [lightbeams](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightbeams), who this fic (and i!) would not exist without. this one's for u

The wing of a freshly-moulted cicada traps rainbows where the sun strikes it—light on oil on water. As a child, Minho would abandon his little net and backpack by his feet to watch as old life emerged anew from a prison of its own making, drying off fresh wings in the summer heat. 

Eventually those wings would flit away on the wind, and Minho would dash further into the trees in pursuit of rainbows and cicada-song. And if some of those wings and songs belonged to things far less mundane than the summer cicada, he wouldn’t have known or cared, running and running until strong arms scoop him up into the air.

Minho kicks frantically at nothing until he’s nestled into warm arms and a familiar scent. “Mom!” he’d laughed, back then. “Look!”

His finger should’ve pointed at the flutter of iridescent wings in the distance, but there are only more trees, and his mother says nothing, only holding him tighter. “Minho,” she scolds, stern. “You can’t go too far into the forest by yourself. I already told you this.”

“I’m sorry,” Minho replies in a small voice, hiding his face into the crook of her shoulder.

When his mother begins marching them back out to his grandpa’s farm, he turns back. This time a flash of rainbow catches his eye, but he is held tight and cannot move. “I won’t let them,” he remembers hearing his mother say, so quiet he can barely make out the words. “Your home is here, with me. I won’t let them.”

Minho watches the light disappear into the woods, flickering like a laugh.

“Minho-hyung,” Hyunjin says, flicking his tail. “You like pretty things, right?”

Jisung’s birthday is technically on Monday, but the three younger boys have classes and Minho has his nine-to-five and so they’ve all made the executive decision to have his birthday be Saturday instead. Minho finally postphones all his scheduled classes and takes the whole day off, and the three younger boys flock excitedly around him as they head out of Sangbong Station. They’d usually meet up only after they've all slept in, but Hyunjin’s insisted on taking them someplace special to eat.

He's regarding Minho hopefully now, all long limbs and starry eyes. Minho smiles at him and says, “No.”

Hyunjin visibly deflates. His thin, leathery tail follows suit, falling back to the ground with a gentle slap. “Okay.”

An arm hooks around Minho’s neck. “Yes, yes, Hyunjin,” Changbin squeaks next to his face, in what Minho assumes is an approximation of his voice. He's so close he almost jostles the metal dangling from Minho's ear. “I love shiny, pretty things! Why do you ask? Ow!”

“Why though,” Minho addresses Hyunjin as Changbin staggers behind them, clutching at where Minho had viciously elbowed him. 

“It’s gotta do with where we’re eating today,” says Jisung, yawning. Someone’s brought him a little party hat, which he’s wearing on the back of his neck like a farmer’s straw hat. Hyunjin shushes him loudly, and he continues, affronted, “What? Like you ever choose places this quickly.”

“I do,” Hyunjin retorts, and doesn't elaborate.

Changbin pops back up beside them, having recovered from being grievously injured. “So how long has he been working there?” he asks cheerily.

Hyunjin's hands twitch like he’s about to blast them all with hellfire, then he sighs and drops his arms. “Last week,” he says, defeated.

Minho nods sagely. “And you met him?”

“Last week," Hyunjin repeats with the exact same intonation, then adds, "Starbucks.”

“Seriously?”

“He kept looking at his coffee cup and laughing. What was I supposed to do?” defends Hyunjin, as though he’s making sense. “And then when I tried to make conversation his eyes got super big and he started asking me all kinds of questions.”

Jisung whistles a low note. “Damn, no wonder you’re already obsessed. That’s some meet-cute.”

Steam practically pours out of Hyunjin’s ears. “I am not—”

“Wait a minute,” Minho says. “If we’re going to a café and you met him at Starbucks, then...”

“No way,” says Jisung. “On my _birthday,_ Hwang Hyunjin?”

“ _Shut the fuck up,_ ” hisses Changbin, forked tongue slipping between his teeth.

Three heads look up ahead as they step off the pedestrian crossing. On the first floor of a building, a short ways in away from the road, sits a… Holly’s Coffee. “Oh thank the gods,” Changbin sighs. “I knew you wouldn’t do that to us.”

“Um,” says Hyunjin, and sidles over to the next building over, where there's a—

“ _STARBUCKS_!” Jisung sounds like he’s about to have a meltdown. “It’s my _birthday_ and you’re making us eat lunch at fucking _Starbucks!_ ”

“Shh, keep it down, shh! It’s not even your actual birthday, stop causing a scene!” Hyunjin leaps on Jisung, trying to smother him. “He’s in there right now, do _not_ make me look bad.”

“I’ll show you bad, Hwang Hyunjin!” hollers Changbin as he leaps into the fray, the normally sleepy snakes on his head hissing in tandem with his yell. 

Minho just steps past them and lets himself into the Starbucks.

It’s a smallish one, despite being just a short walk from the station, and most seats have been taken up. The only spaces he sees are at the second half of a long table occupied by what appears to be, as far as he can tell, three regular human boys and a rather large sword. The oddest thing about them is that they appear to be perfectly normal, and also that the sword gets its own chair. 

“ _Guys, Minho-hyung went in! Ah, ow,_ ” says one of his boys outside, in a muffled voice that cuts off as the door swings shut. 

The three boys look up as he approaches their table. "Hello," Minho says. "Are these taken?"

The boy with the youthful face and cheekbones regards the one seated next to the sword, who turns to Minho with a smile like summertime. "Sure," he replies. "Just yourself?"

"Actually, I might need all four of these seats, if that's alright with you." 

"Sure, feel free." says the sword guy again.

"Thanks." Minho sits himself at the furthest end of the table and ignores the stare that he knows is burning into his back. Before long his own boys are bursting through the doors of the Starbucks, loping over to their table once they spot him. One of Changbin's snakes looks slightly singed and very annoyed, but they're otherwise no worse for wear.

"No way. Chan-hyung?" Jisung exclaims, as Hyunjin ditches the other two and heads right for the counter. "Is that you? What're you doing here, man?"

Sword Guy turns around at the sound of Jisung's voice, then leaps to his feet. "What, it's you two? Come here!"

"Aargh," Changbin says as his Chan-hyung hooks arms around both their shoulders and crushes them in a hug. 

“What’s with the hat? It’s not yet your birthday,” says Chan as he pokes the little party hat in front of his face.

“Early celebrating. Hyung, Bang Chan-hyung's technically part of our Thing," Jisung explains to Minho through Chan's shoulder. "But he's really busy all the time."

"Don't introduce me like that, you." Chan gives them one last squeeze, then turns to Minho with one arm still hooked through Changbin's elbow. "Thanks for taking care of these two."

"I should be asking you for tips," Minho says. "They're a real handful."

"You're their…?"

"I'm just a friend."

"Hyung, why're you here!" Jisung demands, who’s taken the party hat off his neck and uses it to poke Chan in the arm.

"We're visiting a friend," Chan replies with a flash of dimple.

"He's Chan-hyung's latest _project,_ " remarks the third person at the table, sweet-faced and gentle-eyed, who'd been silent the whole time. His gaze catches Minho's for a moment, then flickers away as though it never happened.

Chan ignores the pointed remark. "It’s Yongbok’s first real job. We're just here to see how things are going."

Changbin's already pinching the bridge of his nose as Jisung gapes at Chan, and Hyunjin chooses this moment to return to them with a venti latte and a great big grin on his face. "He's going on break soon; be nice to him, y’all," he says. "Oh, you guys know these people?"

"Hmm." Chan makes a big show of squinting at Hyunjin, who shrinks away under his appraising stare. "Hmm! You must be… Hyunjin?"

Hyunjin squints back suspiciously. "Who's asking?"

"I'm Yongbok's friend Chan!" Chan beams winningly. "I've heard of you," he says, extending his hand to Hyunjin for _a_ _handshake_.

Clearly torn between being pleased and mortified, Hyunjin gives Chan's hand a quick shake, then darts away behind Minho as though he'll be shielded from Chan there. Tough luck. "You only bought yourself coffee?" Minho needles him.

Hyunjin pulls a face. "C'mon, hyung."

"You drag us here, you pay for lunch." 

“All the lunch?” Hyunjin says, scandalised. “Not just Jisung’s?”

A little _ding!_ chimes in Hyunjin's pocket. "Just texted you my order, hop to it." Changbin and Jisung catch on immediately, and soon Hyunjin's phone lets out two more urgent _ding_ s in quick succession as Hyunjin slinks away, defeated. The raucous cheer that explodes from Jisung draws the attention of the sharp-faced youth, his red lips curving upwards. He leans forward in his seat and murmurs something to Jisung that makes him laugh. Minho continues to fiddle with his phone and pretends he can't feel the sharp gaze on him again.

The next time Hyunjin returns, it's with a tray full of pastries and pies and a person hovering beside him; a boy that makes Minho’s mind pull out the words _pretty thing_ in Hwang Hyunjin’s voice. His skin tints with pinks and golds that seem to glow where the sunlight hits, but his floppy, unstyled hair appears to absorb the light around it, save for bright specks of light that shift and weave through the dark strands. More dance across his nose and cheekbones, sparking as he moves—freckles, if an asteroid belt had formed across the planes of his face. 

“Hi guys,” says Yongbok in halting Korean, flashing them a shy smile. Minho feels a little bit winded from how shiny it is.

“Yongbok’s new in town,” Chan says by way of explanation.

“To Seoul?” asks Changbin.

Chan smiles as well, and this time it’s almost sly. “To Earth.”

The sword is shifted up to the table, and everyone scoots over to make space for everyone else. Minho is opposite Hyunjin, who sits beside an increasingly excited Yongbok, who Chan has an eye on the whole time. It’s Minho’s boys who introduce themselves first, along with their _hyung._ “Yang Jeongin,” replies the youngest-looking boy with a surprisingly mischievous smile, and Kim Seungmin returns everyone’s greetings with a small smile and a polite nod.

Yongbok quickly warms up to everyone. At some point Jisung’s party hat ends up on his head, and it bobs up and down as he answers questions like he can’t form the words precisely or quickly enough. “I’m from your sky,” he replies when someone asks why his hair sparkles like that. He turns to look at Chan, who smiles warmly in response. “Yongbok is what we would call a celestial,” Chan elaborates.

“Celestial,” Yongbok repeats with relish to himself, looking pleased.

“Like a star-person, right?” Jisung asks, chewing on his straw.

“Nothing so large!” laughs Yongbok, then thinks for a bit. “But maybe? I’m a fragment.” He abandons his pie to gesture with his hands. “There was once a big, big, big celestial. With a heart thousands of thousands the size of mine, or yours. Of everybody here. One day it met another big celestial, and they broke apart, and then there was me.”

Jisung blinks. “So the big celestial was like… your parent?”

“I don’t know,” says Yongbok. “I never met them.”

“Tell them why you’re here,” Hyunjin says, nudging Yongbok in the shoulder and taking over from Jisung, who looks increasingly sorry to have asked.

Yongbok beams with delight at Hyunjin’s prompt. Hyunjin looks away abashed, then meets Minho’s unimpressed expression and sticks out his tongue. “I’m on my way here!” Yongbok tells everyone, oblivious. “I’m coming to Earth. The actual me!”

Jisung chokes on his coffee. “You’re gonna hit Earth?” Changbin splutters.

“No!” Chan and Yongbok yelp at the same time. “No,” continues Chan, “there’s a comet passing right by us sometime soon. Um…”

“Comet C/2020 R2 will approach perihelion at the end of September and come closest to Earth sometime next month,” Seungmin says, looking at his phone. 

Jeongin nicks it out of his hand and shows it off to the table; there’s a tiny pixelated image of a bright light in the darkness of space on the screen. “That’s our Yongbok,” he laughs, pulling the elastic string of Yongbok’s new hat and letting go so it snaps onto his chin and startles him.

“Owie,” says Yongbok, then examines the screen with a critical eye. “Is that what I look like?” he asks. “It’s so hard to see.”

“‘You’ are travelling at high speeds and are too far away to be seen by the naked eye,” replies Seungmin, snatching his phone back from Jeongin’s fingers. “It’s not a good photo,” he explains when Yongbok just blinks at him.

“Yongbok will be visiting Earth until the time his comet has to leave,” says Chan with a little smile. “We’re trying to make it as comfortable for him until then.”

Minho catches Hyunjin’s eye again. This time Hyunjin tries for his usual signature smirk, but he can’t quite seem to get it to stay.

“My break is over, so I have to get back to work,” Yongbok announces as he gets up from the table and takes off the party hat. It takes him a while to figure out how it works, but eventually he manages to get it back on Jisung’s head without taking anyone’s eye out. He smiles at everyone again, and it’s dazzling and genuine. “Thanks for coming to see me!”

“I’ll come with you,” Seungmin says, and they head toward the counter, talking quietly between themselves. They make a strange pair, Seungmin’s soft brown hair next to Yongbok’s shimmering dark head.

Jisung turns to Chan, pulling Minho's attention back to the table. “He’s on Earth for just a bit, and he’s working at a Starbucks?”

Jeongin’s the one who shrugs in response. The simple motion looks practiced and elegant on his shoulders as he says, “He thought it was really funny."

"What was I going to do?" Chan adds. "Tell him no?”

Changbin clinks his spoon around in his cup. "Not gonna lie, that's a good call on his part. This is a pretty mean hot chocolate." 

“Oh, hyung.” Hyunjin taps the table in front of Minho’s drink to get his attention. “Weren’t you supposed to get an Americano? That looks like a latte.” 

Minho looks down at his iced coffee, which very much does have milk in it. “There must have been a mix-up,” he says. “It’s fine.” 

“Yeah, look, the receipt says Americano right here. I’ll get it changed for you,” Hyunjin offers, getting up halfway off his chair.

“Wah,” Minho coos, “our Hyunjinnie is all grown up! Helping his hyung go to the counter? Hyung is so proud!”

“Tch!” Hyunjin sits back down with a loud huff while Changbin snickers beside him. “Do it yourself!”

“Okay,” Minho sings, then makes a big show of enjoying his drink. It’s already getting bland from the ice, and the milk only makes it taste even more like nothing.

“We’re actually gonna head out,” says Chan when Seungmin returns to the table. “It’s been fun hanging out with you guys though! Hyunjin, you’ll play nice with Yongbok, right?”

“Wha,” Hyunjin blubbers, caught unaware. “Yeah. Yes! Of course.” 

“Great.” Chan gives Jisung and Changbin a noogie each before he swings a leather harness over his black shirt, then straps the sword on the table to his back. It all happens so quick that Minho isn’t sure the sword hasn’t simply teleported to where it is now. “Okay, I’ll see you two around. Text me, yeah?” He gives Minho a grin and a nod, then heads out of the Starbucks. His boys follow, and Minho feels his chair shudder slightly as one of them kicks it on their way out.

Outside, the three of them seem to discuss something, then split up as Chan and Jeongin head back down the road to the subway station. Seungmin pauses to glance back through the glass. His brow creases for just a moment when he meets Minho’s eye, then he turns and briskly leaves in the other direction.

“Hey,” Minho says, turning back to his friends. “I gotta go do something real quick.”

They look up at him with varying amounts of food in their mouth. “Uhm, mmgeh?” says Jisung through his pastry. “O’ ‘ummin back?”

“You coming back?” Changbin repeats in language Minho can understand.

“Yeah,” Minho says, already standing up. “Let me know where you guys are heading next after Hyunjin’s done pining for the afternoon, just text me.”

Hyunjin chucks a balled up string of straw wrapper at him. “Don’t you dare come back.”

“Bye-ee,” Minho singsongs, taking a sip of his drink as he leaves. What comes through the straw is thick and sour, with a consistency that makes him gag. He splutters and spits his mouthful of curdled milk back into the cup. “Kim Seungmin,” he mutters to himself. “You’re dead.”

Three boys watch as their Minho-hyung curses to himself and dumps his entire drink with too much force into the nearest bin. "Damn," says Jisung. "Was it something I said?"

"It’s your birthday. You can’t do wrong on your birthday," Changbin informs him helpfully. “Also you literally could not say anything.”

Hyunjin shakes his head. "I definitely got enough Americanos for us. Yongbok counted them out and everything."

"Maybe celestials can't count because they weren't born with fingers. Ow," Changbin says as Jisung elbows him. "What? It's true."

"Maybe it’s not even the coffee? Knowing hyung, it could be anything in the world," sighs Hyunjin. “I'll just buy him another one later today."

Jisung puts his party hat over his face and mimes setting off a party popper. “Happy birthday to me.”

Lee Minho shoves the door to Holly's Coffee aside and beelines right for the little two-seater in the back. "Kim Seungmin," he seethes. "That was a perfectly good Americano that _Hyunjin_ bought with his own money!"

Kim Seungmin says nothing, only pointing at the singular iced black coffee placed at the seat opposite his.

"You're on thin ice," Minho grunts, but he sits himself down and takes a sip. Gods, that's real coffee. They sit in silence for a bit as Minho goes to town on it, up until he gets sick of Seungmin just staring at him. "Can't you be on your phone or something like a normal person?" he complains.

"First time we meet in ages," sighs Seungmin, "and you wanna be like this."

Minho scoffs. "Me? When you're making a habit out of this coffee-ruining thing?"

"You should feel flattered. I've only done this to you."

"Don’t you have some sort of law against lying?” He threateningly rattles the ice in his cup at Seungmin. “Don’t pretend like I’m special.”

Seungmin rolls his eyes and leans back in his chair, like he’s already tired from just this. He’s gotten his hair dyed a gentle chestnut and styled it simply; an oversized coat hangs fashionably off his simple ensemble of a mandarin-collared shirt and cuffed jeans. Contacts instead of spectacles. It hadn’t been possible for Seungmin to be bad-looking before, but he now radiates a _je ne sais quoi_ that Minho isn’t sure is purely mundane. “My entire existence is built on a lie,” says Seungmin. “I’m sure speaking a couple won’t hurt.”

“Prove it.” Minho leans forward in his seat. “Is the sky purple?”

“Of course,” Seungmin answers smoothly.

“Fair enough,” says Minho, sitting back upright. "Good to know you can lie openly to my face. Really makes me feel at ease."

Seungmin rolls his eyes for the second time in one minute.

 _Slurp,_ goes the coffee up Minho's straw. "So,” he begins, smacking the empty cup against the table to punctuate his point. Little flecks of condensation spray over the table’s surface like so many jewels. "You spend your precious time and effort ruining my day off, you've gotta have a reason. I can't even begin to guess," he lies.

Seungmin is working to keep his face unreadable. There’s a creasing of a brow here, a flattening of the mouth there. Like breathing, Minho picks up on it—and like breathing, it becomes effort the moment he notices. It slips from him, and Seungmin's expression ices over with finality. "Give it a shot," he replies. "Take your time."

 _Any prizes,_ Minho tries, but the words don't come. His coffee's all gone and yet his throat feels dry. This back-and-forth of theirs is muscle memory—his body remembers the steps, the movements, the flow, but Seungmin only stares blankly up at him, a fragment of a dream or some moth-eaten memory. There but not quite there. You can't tango with a ghost, no matter how hard you try.

Ten more days. He knows. He's been counting.

"You want to invite me to your birthday party," Minho says.

Something shifts in Seungmin's gaze. The rest of his countenance doesn't change, but Minho has spent a year of his life studying this exact minutiae and he feels it instantly, sharp as the crack of a whip. "Yeah," Seungmin breathes. "Yeah, that's it." His hands are folded neatly on the table, right over left, fingertips digging ever so slightly into soft, unbroken skin.

Kim Seungmin with cake on his nose. Kim Seungmin, yelling as half his candles are blown out before he can do it himself, the flames dancing in his eyes as he relights them. Kim Seungmin, laughing, laughing, laughing.

"Kim Seungmin," Minho forces out. "You're being rude."

"Rude?"

"Staring at people." Barging back into his life. "Take a photo or something."

Seungmin blinks, and his searing gaze lets up for just a moment. Just long enough for the crack in his composure to spiderweb, barely holding itself together as he says, so softly Minho has to strain to catch each word, "I think I'm going to forget what you look like."

It's like a strike to the chest. Minho's winded, out of breath. Dancing with a ghost. "So you've given up," is all he can think to say.

A flicker of anger. "I thought you'd understand," Seungmin scoffs now, at a volume significantly higher than a whisper. "You of all people should."

Minho _knows_ what he's talking about. "That's not the same thing."

"It might as well have been."

"It wouldn't," insists Minho, in a years-old argument that only ever repeats itself. _I wouldn't forget that face._

Seungmin glares at him for a second, then turns his gaze out the glass windows. "I'm tired of this," he spits, standing up from his seat.

"Wait," Minho interjects.

It takes Seungmin flinching to realise what he's done. Minho looks down; he's already on his feet and he hasn't noticed. In his hand is Seungmin's larger one, his fingers wrapped desperately around the bony wrist. And where the metal of his rings touches Seungmin, the skin sears an angry, painful red, almost steaming from the contact.

Minho lets go like he's the one who's been scalded. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he gasps. Where's his wallet? There's some old band-aids in there, he's sure, just in case any of his students hurt themselves in class. 

Seungmin sucks in breath through his teeth, cradling his injured hand with the other. "Did you always wear that many?" he grits out, as Minho roots around in the crevices of his beat-up leather wallet.

"It wasn't—I didn't see a reason not to, after," Minho mutters. "Sit down."

To his surprise, Seungmin sits back down and waits as the plastic is peeled off the adhesive, then offers up his wrist. Minho presses the gauze onto the ugliest of the burns, where the carved iron around Minho’s thumb had left a loud streak across the bump of bone where wrist meets hand. The bright reds and yellows of the characters on the little band-aid clash wonderfully with Seungmin's carefully-curated outfit, as do the other two burn marks on his skin. 

"I only have one," Minho apologises.

Seungmin waves his mistreated hand dismissively. "It doesn't hurt anymore. They won't scar, anyway." The corners of his mouth twitch upward. "And here I was thinking you were so comfortable with the idea of having _y_ _twlwyth_ _teg_ take you." In the original Welsh, Seungmin's voice turns to honey in Minho's ear, smooth and dangerous. _The fair family._

"For a _price,"_ Minho corrects, ignoring the shiver at the base of his spine. "They're not kidnapping me for free."

Seungmin only huffs with amusement. "Haggling for the price of your soul before you sell it. Fun."

"Of course you'd still be able to laugh after someone burns you," Minho sighs, slumping back into his own seat. He still hasn't gotten what he wanted, even; Seungmin's feet tap the floor with a lightness that Minho knows will get him out the door any moment. "That's going to take a while to heal."

"Just as well," Seungmin tells him with a flash of teeth. "It'll be just like you're there."

Before Seungmin can move, Minho reaches across the table and grabs him by the sleeve of his shirt, where it pokes out under the thicker cuff of his coat. "I said, _wait."_

Seungmin himself startles, but doesn't try to stand or to take his arm away. "What for," he says, without bothering to ask Minho what he means.

Minho hasn't thought this far ahead. For a while they stay that way, Minho’s fingers pinched around the sleeve of Seungmin’s shirt, staring each other down. "Why?" is what he decides on. "Why did you call me here?"

It takes a few more moments for Seungmin to respond, silent as he searches Minho’s face. "I hoped you'd given up on your stupid plan," he replies. "But you didn't, so I'm leaving."

"Is that the truth?"

Seungmin smiles with so much teeth. "Partially." 

The teeth only grow in number as Minho frowns at him."How's _your_ plan going, then?"

A shrug. "It's how I met Chan-hyung. True names aren't really his expertise, but he has connections. I thought he might know someone who'd met the Queen. As it stands I have a working list, but we'll have to wait and see if any of those are her true name." He must see something on Minho's face, because he adds, "I never said I gave up. You did."

Minho grimaces. "Misdirection. Distasteful."

Seungmin lets out a single bark of laughter. "I have fun," he says, suddenly solemn. "Chan-hyung, Jeongin, and now Yongbok… It's been fun."

The words are familiar. Hearing them is gladness and relief and, underneath all those things, a hollowness that eats further into him the longer he stays in Seungmin's presence. "That's good," he manages, because it is, and doesn't continue because there's nothing else he can say.

It seems to be the wrong response. "And that's all," Seungmin states evenly, but it sounds like a pointed question.

“Is it… not good?” Minho tries, uneasy. “You’re lying?”

“I’m not lying, Lee Minho.” Seungmin levels a glare at him. “Gods, is that all you can think about?” His hands grip the sides of the table as he leans in closer, drops his voice lower. From this distance his dark eyes are a warm, gentle brown flecked with black and gold and shimmering, iridescent green. “You pretend not to know me. You don’t ask after me. You don’t let me leave. What do you _want,_ Lee Minho?”

Minho can’t speak. Not from not having the words to, but because a single tear spills first from Seungmin’s right eye, then his left. One manages to streak down his cheek, but he wipes furiously at his face with his sleeve before any more can fall. “Damn it,” he seethes. “Damn it all. It’s been fun so I don’t want to leave. Okay? I don’t remember, I don’t _know_ what Faery is like and I don’t want to go.”

Something stirs in Minho’s chest, an old determination he’d buried over a year ago in the ashes of _what if_ and _what could’ve been._ He’s made Kim Seungmin cry, again. There’s no conscious effort to, but his hand reaches towards him, trailing along the skin of Seungmin’s cheek as he uses his thumb to wipe away the last trace of damp along his jaw. For a moment, he is allowed.

“You don’t have to go,” Minho whispers.

Everything shatters as Seungmin slaps his hand away from him. It’s the sound of it that shocks him out of it, then the stinging that keeps him rooted to the spot as Seungmin snatches up his things and runs, _flees_ out of the café. 

Minho feels dizzy as he watches Seungmin’s back slip out of sight.

 _Go after him,_ his mind screams, just as it had a year ago. _Run after him._ A year ago his feet had frozen to the ground, and he could do nothing but watch. Today he grabs his wallet and his phone and sprints for the door, bursts through it into the street, then slowly stumbles to a stop.

There is no glimpse of brown hair, no flapping of a coat as its owner dashes through the crowds of Seoul. Kim Seungmin is gone. Minho looks down at his hands. There, crushed between his palm and the plastic of his phone case, is a crumpled piece of paper. Receipt for one iced Americano, extra shot, less ice.

Jisung picks up immediately. “Yo, hyung! You done with your thing?”

“Yo, birthday boy,” Minho makes himself say. The paper is still slightly damp as he folds it, but it fits snugly into his front pocket. "I'm still near Sangbong Station. Where are we going next?"

↺

**han ᶘ ᵒᴥᵒᶅ jisung**

  
hyung

  
hyung hyung hyung

yesyesyesyesyesyesyes

are u free tmr

*today morning

no

whoa  
u actually have plans on a sunday?

yes?

they're very important so  
don't bother me

sleeping in until 2 and napping again after lunch  
r not important activities

how dare u han jisung

cmon hear me out

channies inviting us to a party  
and he wants u and hyunjin to come!!

do u have his number

can i have it

omg ye here

  
📞 **bangchanniehyung**

  
let him know ur going hes nice

who said i was going

im sending him a ss of u  
calling him channie

HYUNGGGGG

hyung plssssssss not on  
my not birthday

hyung???????????

**Bang Chan Starbucks**

📎Screenshot-13-09-2020-01.16.png

hi!

i assume this is lee minho

you assume correctly

**han ᶘ ᵒᴥᵒᶅ jisung**

im hurt

we will never come back from this

good

never threaten my sundays ever again

**Bang Chan Starbucks**

jisung says u can't make it for our party  
planning sesh tomorrow but i hope you'll  
be able to come to the party itself!

thank you for the invite but  
im not really free, sorry

i haven't even told you the date yet! haha

oh yeah 

im just not really free in general

hahahahaha

oh i understand! i keep  
uncertain hours too

i do hope you'll still try to make time  
though! it would mean a lot

my boys seem to really like you guys  
and felix would be chuffed to see  
hyunjin and you guys again

sorry if this feels a little pushy! the  
invite doesn't expire so you can  
change your mind if ever :)

**han ᶘ ᵒᴥᵒᶅ jisung**

i dont know how u turn down  
channie hyung he's like

the nicest guy alive

also free food dude whats  
wrong with you

i thought we were over

WE ARE

**Grouped Chat**

**han ᶘ ᵒᴥᵒᶅ jisung**  
guys u gotta help me out here

 **hyun E**  
omg nooooo hyung ur not goin?

so uve all decided to gang up on me

 **bini**  
dont u wanna see us :(

i already saw u guys today

what's so nice about u guys to see

 **hyun E**  
ok dont u wanna see yongbok

 **han ᶘ ᵒᴥᵒᶅ jisung**  
lol

lol

 **hyun E**  
OK FUCK OFF

 **bini**  
lol

 **hyun E**  
LITERALLY cant stand any of u i just meant  
he's super interesting to look at

 **han ᶘ ᵒᴥᵒᶅ jisung**  
LOLOL

 **hyun E**  
hyung can i go to ur house tmr im  
not going out with these assholes

hm who knows! mb ill go after all

i will send u pics of yongbok if u  
promise not to get jealous

 **hyun E**  
WOW OK

 **bini**  
u should rly come hyung!

it'll be fun

how could u possibly know this

 **bini**  
chan-hyung's really cool

actually he's kinda lame nvm.

 **han ᶘ ᵒᴥᵒᶅ jisung**  
yeah hes lame LOL

like hes a legit paladin can u believe it

 **hyun E**  
omg rly? wat a nerd lmao

oh lol is that what that sword was

 **bini**  
YEAH apparently it talks to  
him or some shit

 **han ᶘ ᵒᴥᵒᶅ jisung**  
im telling u man hes a warlock  
he just doesnt know it yet

talking swords r just bad news period

 **bini**  
but ya that's why he's busy all the time

doing quest shit

instead of hanging out with us 😢

 **han ᶘ ᵒᴥᵒᶅ jisung**  
boringgg

but hes doing this party thing now!!!!!

 **hyun E**  
if hes lame wont the party be lame 2 lol

 **han ᶘ ᵒᴥᵒᶅ jisung**  
nah man

channie doesnt do anything in halves

if hes gonna plan a party it's definitely  
gonna be one to rmb

 **bini**  
omg dude wait

what if this party is actually some  
quest shit………………...

 **han ᶘ ᵒᴥᵒᶅ jisung**  
no.

NO

channie wouldnt do that to us.

 **hyun E**  
dont know this guy but like

if it has party in the title im there

study party

 **hyun E**  
im so tired

how would it be a quest party tho

lol

like how could a quest be involved at all

 **bini**  
omg ok so

chan-hyung's quests are like super weird  
they're always abt like

helping and chaperoning people and stuff

 **han ᶘ ᵒᴥᵒᶅ jisung**  
yeah and not like ppl in general its  
one specific person

 **bini**  
ya

so he's like someone's weird guardian  
angel for like two weeks or smth 

so that person would be like

his project?

 **bini**  
lol why does that sound familiar

but ya basically

 **han ᶘ ᵒᴥᵒᶅ jisung**  
this yongbok is definitely his current quest lol

 **bini**  
what about that kid dyou think he was a quest too

 **han ᶘ ᵒᴥᵒᶅ jisung**  
hes not a kid dude his name is jeongin

hes like older than us

 **hyun E**  
huh how old is he

 **han ᶘ ᵒᴥᵒᶅ jisung**  
idk but he used the word 'mishap'  
in the year 2020

 **bini**  
lol he's probably thirty

 **hyun E**  
pretty well maintained for thirty lmao

tell him to drop his skincare routine

 **han ᶘ ᵒᴥᵒᶅ jisung**  
ok ageless eternal fiend of the fiery depths

 **hyun E**  
u think ppl r well moisturized in hell?

i went upstairs for a reason

 **bini**  
just ask him when u see him tmr lol

 **hyun E**  
im not going

im on strike w minho hyung

have fun striking on your  
own lol im going

 **binu**  
OMG

 **han ᶘ ᵒᴥᵒᶅ jisung**  
YAY

hyunjin ur so smart

 **hyun E**  
WAIT WTF

SO NOW IM RLY NOT ALLOWED 2 GO?

no hard feelings kiddo :/

 **han ᶘ ᵒᴥᵒᶅ jisung**  
thanks for doing gods work dude

 **hyun E**  
i LEGIT jus felt some power drain out frm  
me never say that 2 my face ever again

whatever im gonna see yongbok fk u guys

 **han ᶘ ᵒᴥᵒᶅ jisung**  
awwwwwwwww

 **bini**  
we will give u two space :)

 **han ᶘ ᵒᴥᵒᶅ jisung**  
yea :)

 **han ᶘ ᵒᴥᵒᶅ jisung**  
omg i think he went offline LOL

 **bini**  
HAHAHAHAHA

he's complaining on ig

stop bullying hyunjin

see you guys tmr

 **han ᶘ ᵒᴥᵒᶅ jisung**  
😇

 **bini**  
haha

😇

**Bang Chan Starbucks**

hi, sorry for how late this is

but ill be showing up tomorrow!  
where should i head to

whoa glad to hear it!!!!!  
I'll send you an address

**📌 Bang Chan Starbucks has**   
**sent you a pin.**

thank you

😺

I hope this isn't too weird to say  
but I mean this sincerely

your choosing to come has altered the course  
of the universe in a way that isn't obvious right  
now but which will have lasting significance for  
all of us. I know this as fact

thats a pretty weird thing to say yeah

damn

sorry

↺

Changbin and Jisung's Channie-hyung actually owns a real apartment. An honest-to-goodness _nice_ apartment, not like the one the troublesome three share or the homely two floors that Minho's family has lived in since they moved to the city. A 24-year-old with an entire apartment to himself in _downtown_ _Seoul._

When Minho texts him as such on the way there, all Chan sends in response is a sheepish _government-sponsored housing,_ and doesn't elaborate. Minho is left to gape at the security cameras, the clean walls and the shiny elevator that goes to every floor.

He finds the right door on the ninth floor and rings the doorbell. The classical music (!) echoes for a little while before it peters out, followed by a loud pattering of feet. Minho hears a muffled, _"Yongbok wait!"_ before the door flies open and a bright blue blur throws itself at him, bony arms wrapped around his chest in a hug.

Minho flails wildly for a moment, then recognises the strangely sparkly black hair in his face. "Oh, it's Yongbok," he says, patting the celestial boy on the back of his oversized blue hoodie.

Yongbok releases him for just long enough to look into his face, then squeezes him again. "It's Minho-hyung!"

Minho's a little bit older than his friends, sure, but he's pretty sure he's not, like, a billion years old or however long celestials technically live for. "Little help here," he calls to Chan, who's peering through the doorway.

"Yongbok, let him inside," Chan chides. "Sorry, he just learned the concept of _hyung_ and he's really excited to use it."

"It's fine. He can call me 'hyung' if he wants." What's one more, when he has four?—three.

At Chan's direction, Yongbok finally sets most of Minho free, but still clings to his arm as he leads Minho inside the apartment. It's a surprisingly warm space, despite the cold cleanliness of the building itself. An entire wall of the spacious living room is lined with old posters, photographs and scrolls, some in languages Minho can't understand, and in the middle of it all sits a large wall-mounted television. Where a sofa would've been is instead an array of cushions and throw pillows and colorful plush toys, strewn about a large woven mat that covers most of the marble floor. The balcony doors are thrown open; three little pots sit in an empty planter, their contents growing at varying degrees of health.

"Sorry," Chan apologises again, "I hope you're okay with sitting on the floor. I never really got around to getting chairs."

"It's no problem at all," says Minho as though he isn't already eyeing the biggest and fluffiest cushion in the pile. "Is no one else here yet?"

"As far as I'm aware, neither Changbin nor Jisung are the sort to be on time." Chan grins merrily at this, as though he's describing _good_ traits in his friends.

"Neither is Hyunjin. If I didn't make a habit out of being a little bit late, bad things would've happened to them. What is it, Yongbok?"

Yongbok's been slowly dragging Minho towards the big pile of soft things, and lets go of him entirely to retrieve a big star-shaped plush with a little smiling face on it. "Minho-hyung," he confides in hushed tones. "This is what people think stars look like."

"That's true," Minho agrees, picking his way over to park his bum on that big, big pillow at the side. Hmm. Less squishy than he'd expected. "It's not a very good likeness."

Yongbok nods solemnly. "It isn't."

 _Thanks,_ Chan mouths at him, then disappears into what must be the kitchen. Minho can't imagine what he'd be grateful for. And is he wearing an apron? He doesn't get the chance to double-take: Yongbok has decided to clamber onto him, all bones and joints and sky blue cotton.

"Ow," complains Minho. "Yongbok, stop."

Yongbok looks utterly crushed. "Chan-hyung lets me do this," he objects.

"Your Chan-hyung is made of sterner stuff than most people." He gives Yongbok a gentle shove, who slides miserably back down to the floor.

"Sterner stuff," repeats Yongbok, slowly.

“That means he can… really take a beating.” Minho scrunches up his face as he thinks. “Like, you could probably hit him with a sledgehammer and he’d be fine.”

Yongbok just looks more confused. He opens his mouth, probably to ask what a sledgehammer means this time, but Chan's voice yells out from the kitchen, “I heard that, Minho! Please don’t give Yongbok any ideas. Please.”

“Okay, sorry,” Minho calls back. “Okay, where was I? A sledgehammer is a big rock on a stick that you hit things with.”

“Ooh,” Yongbok says. “What kind of rock?”

“... You’re really putting me through the grinder here, Yongbok.”

They’re interrupted by a quiet _click_ at the front door as it unlocks itself, then creaks open just wide enough to reveal pale skin and a sharp eye. Yongbok yelps and throws himself into Minho’s side. He’s about halfway burrowed into Minho’s ribs when the door opens the rest of the way for Jeongin to step through, his slender features pulled back into a little smile. “It’s just me, Yongbok," he says, his voice light and gentle. "And that’s my pillow.”

“Hm?” says Minho.

Jeongin nods in Minho’s direction. “That’s my pillow you’re sitting on.”

“Oh.” So that’s why it was so flat. “Sorry. Here, I’ll move.” Minho has to half-shove, half-drag Yongbok with him as he settles himself on a long stripey bolster a good ways away, closer to the center.

Jeongin dips his head graciously towards Minho as he toes off his shoes and steps lightly into the pile, carefully avoiding all the plushies and settling himself on the vacated pillow. “You’ve made it too warm,” he says, curling up on it with his legs to his chest.

Minho can’t believe his ears. “What did you say?”

Having finally made himself comfortable, Jeongin closes his eyes and purrs, “Mm, nothing.”

 _What a rude child,_ Minho thinks to himself, then remembers that Jeongin is quite possibly thirty or worse. You can never be sure in Seoul. Yongbok pulls away from him, moving towards Jeongin in a manner that’s more tumbles and rolls than walking. “Jeongin-hyung,” Yongbok exclaims, spinning to a stop against Jeongin’s big pillow.

This startles Jeongin enough that he snaps his eyes open and lifts his head to stare at Yongbok. “I’m not your hyung,” he states.

“Why?” demands Yongbok.

“You’re older than me.”

“Hmm.” Yongbok seems to think this over. “Okay! I still have Minho-hyung so it’s okay.” Then he tumbles back across every plush and pillow in his way to lean his sparkly head against Minho’s shoulder.

Jeongin squints at Minho from across the pile. Defeated, Minho just shrugs back with his free shoulder.

There’s a sharp rapping at the door, then the murmuring of voices. Someone tries to knock again, but there's a muffled sound and then the doorbell's classical music plays throughout the house.

No one moves. Even the kitchen is silent. "Don't you want to get it?" Minho petitions the boy next to him.

Yongbok stares down the door, then shakes his head. "No," he declares. For all intents and purposes, Jeongin appears to be sound asleep. Okay. Cool. Not his apartment, but whatever. Minho disentangles himself from Yongbok with a sigh and goes to open the door.

It opens on Jisung with one hand raised to knock again, but his full attention is on the two other boys behind him. "I'm telling you it's Pachelbel," he whisper-shouts at them, gesturing with an arm laden down with what looks like soda cans.

Hyunjin throws up his hands in frustration. "I told you, I've _literally_ met Johann and he told me he wrote this D thing!"

" _Which Johann,"_ is what Minho thinks Changbin silently shrieks in response, but it's drowned out by the angry hissing of the serpents on his head.

"Hey. Welcome to my humble abode," says Minho.

"Chan-hyung!" Changbin exclaims, then shoves away some snakes that'd flown into his face from how fast he'd snapped his head around. "Oh. Minho-hyung."

"Hyung!" says Jisung. "You're early!"

"I'm _on time."_

"You're early for someone who didn't want to come," Jisung corrects glibly.

Minho rolls his eyes. "Get in so I can close the door."

Hyunjin gives him a quick one-armed squeeze as he follows the other two in. "You get any Yongbok pics though," he mutters into Minho's ear.

"Take them yourself," Minho groans, shoving Hyunjin off him. "Yongbok, it's Hyunjin!"

There's the pattering of feet again, and Yongbok barrels past Minho into Hyunjin's perfectly pressed shirt. "Hyunjin-hyung!" 

Jisung and Changbin call for Chan as they carry their groceries into the kitchen, blessedly missing out on how Hyunjin's limbs have locked up like those of a terrified goat. His ears start to steam again as he babbles, "H… hyu…. hyu…" 

Jeongin cracks one eye open to watch the proceedings. It follows the two boys as they head into the kitchen, then flickers to Minho, then falls closed again.

Minho shuts the door.

It takes a while before almost everyone's settled on the big mat again. Chan throws Jisung out of the kitchen immediately, and he emerges with two cans of soda and a gleeful grin. Changbin survives a while longer, but there’s another metallic crashing sound and he’s booted out as well, sulkily joining the rest of the group on the pillows.

“Hyung, catch!” Jisung calls.

Minho snatches the can of Sprite out of the air from where he’s lounging on the ground. “Why’d you throw it,” he complains. “Now it’ll explode if I open it.”

“Haha, oh yeah. Oops.”

Yongbok turns away from Hyunjin to regard Minho with big, curious eyes. “Open it,” he suggests.

Minho smiles, and says, “Why don’t you try it over the kitchen sink?” He waggles the can enticingly at him, then throws in a wink for good measure. Behind Yongbok, Hyunjin looks completely aghast.

The little celestial, bless his heart, falls for it hook, line and sinker. In a blink the can is gone from Minho's hand and Yongbok is a blurry streak dashing into the kitchen. There's a telltale _psssh-crack!_ of an opening can, and then two shrieks of entirely different tonality. " _HAN JISUNG,"_ yells Chan's voice over Yongbok's delighted screaming.

"What? It wasn't me!" Jisung's already standing up and heading to the kitchen even as he protests, "It seriously wasn't me this time hyung, serious!"

"I'm going to go see if Yongbok is okay," Hyunjin mutters, following Jisung in. Changbin just high-fives Minho as he takes up new residence beside him, propping his legs up on Minho's knees. On his comfortable perch Jeongin is silent, but a peaceful smile slowly spreads across his face despite the shouting in the kitchen. Minho gets the feeling that he's just passed some sort of test.

"Alright everybody," Chan announces as he shepherds the three other boys out of the kitchen, each laden down with a massive plate of gimbap. Yongbok in particular has a damp fringe and hoodie strings and a big silly grin. "Let's just eat first. Before anything else happens."

Only when the plates are set down does Jeongin stir from his pillow, padding quietly over to the middle on his hands and knees. "Hey dude," Jisung greets.

"Mm," replies Jeongin.

"There's chopsticks," Chan says, smacking Jeongin's bare hand away from the food.

Jeongin sits back on his haunches, annoyed. "Yongbok-ie doesn't have to use chopsticks."

Yongbok startles and pauses in the middle of stuffing his face with both hands. "Yongbok doesn't know how to. There's a difference," refutes Chan, patting Yongbok reassuringly on the shoulder. Jeongin opens his mouth to argue further, but Chan adds, "and you'll be a better boy if you're good at using them."

Jeongin takes another moment to squint suspiciously at Chan, then gives in and picks up a pair of chopsticks. Minho is left with questions and the vague impression of having seen a man stare down a tiger. "Thanks for the food, Chan- _sshi,"_ Minho says politely, instead.

"Hyung is fine," Chan replies, a pleased smile on his face.

"Thanks, hyung!" Jisung cheers as he helps himself to the food. Hyunjin distractedly echoes the sentiment, looking both charmed and alarmed at how Yongbok immediately tries stuffing up his own cheeks to match Jisung's. 

"Gahk," chokes Changbin on his food.

"Yes, yes, you're all welcome," says Chan, flapping his hand at them dismissively.

The food is passable and the company peculiar, but Minho finds himself sharing one of the big plates between Jeongin and Changbin, one curled up against Minho's hip with his knees to his chest and the other still tangling their legs together, and it's strangely comfortable. Maybe it's some kind of paladin magic that makes the room warmer and the pillows softer. Even Jisung's fully relaxed opposite them, his shoulders tucked under Chan's arm as he mock-scolds him about something, possibly their Thing with a capital T. Chan laughs and smiles and kicks Changbin in the foot, and Changbin's grins dopily for a moment before suddenly finding his gimbap extremely interesting.

It's after the plates are empty and stacked up on each other in a little pile that Minho realises what's been nagging at him is the distinct lack of any sort of party planning talk.

"Oh, that!" is all Chan says when he brings it up. "Don't worry about it. You're helping out lots already, you all are."

Minho tries not to frown. "Really? How?"

Even Changbin regards him curiously at this. Chan just shrugs. "First on the agenda was finding out if you guys would all have fun together in a social situation. I think we've got that part settled."

"Okay," Minho assents, uncertainly. That part, at least, is true. Jisung had been successfully lured away from the familiar safety of being next to Minho or Chan, and was currently helping Yongbok heckle a red-faced Hyunjin as Jeongin spectates with open amusement. A little weight lifts from Minho's shoulders as he watches Jisung laugh, clear and real. "That's good. What else is on the agenda?"

"Part two of the agenda arrives at two p.m.," Chan replies, "which happens to be any moment now."

There is a short knocking at the door. 

"I'll get it," says Chan with one hand raised, leaping to his feet and taking the empty plates with him. The noisemakers in the corner look up for barely a second, up until Hyunjin hurls a plushie at Jisung's face and Jeongin cackles as he falls over from the impact.

" _Fuck,"_ Minho hisses to himself.

"Huh?" Changbin turns to him, brows furrowed. "Hyung? What's wrong?"

"You have to hide me, Changbin," says Minho. "Bury me under all the cushions. Or lock me in the bathroom, or something. Or maybe I can hide in the balcony and escape out the window if I have to. I'll be a fourth flowerpot."

"We're on the ninth floor, dude. You'd sooner beat up any of us than go anywhere near the balcony." Changbin peers into his face, his eyes glowing slightly behind the dark brown of his contacts. He's clearly worried, and Minho feels a bit guilty. "Are you okay? We can leave now, I'll let Chan know."

Minho shuts his eyes for a moment. He's not a coward, and he's not going to do this to Changbin. "It's nothing," he says, opening his eyes again. "Aren't you having fun? You haven't gotten to see Bang Chan in a while."

Changbin nods warily. "But it's not that big a deal. If you're not having fun we should go."

"I'm just being a loser," Minho says. "It's going to be fine. He literally can't touch me."

"Who? Hyung, you're seriously freaking me out."

"You're a good kid, Changbin," Minho coos with a smile, pinching Changbin's cheek.

Changbin still looks completely bewildered as Chan leads Kim Seungmin into the living room. He's dressed nice again, this time with his hair tucked under a beret. "Seungminnie!" Yongbok exclaims as he hurls himself at his friend, who stumbles back but wraps his arms around him tight and swings him in a small circle.

"There's still some gimbap for you in the kitchen," Chan tells Seungmin as Yongbok laughs and laughs. "Want me to get it for you?"

"That's okay," replies Seungmin, depositing Yongbok back on the ground. "Where did you leave it? I'll take the plates in for you."

"Aw, thanks, here you go. Your gimbap's beside the rice cooker!"

"Gotcha. Thanks, Chan-hyung."

"Hi, Seungmin," Minho says.

At the sound of his name Seungmin pauses and frowns, sweeping his gaze down across the gathered group of boys on the floor. Minho waves helpfully. He's immediately skewered with a glare, and for a moment he wonders if Seungmin will actually throw one of the plates at him or stalk back out the door. "Hello," is all Seungmin says after a while, then he turns on his heel and heads towards the kitchen.

"Ow, ow ow ow," Changbin yelps once Seungmin is out of earshot.

Minho quickly releases his grip on Changbin's hand. "Sorry. I'm sorry," he exhales. "Did I hurt you?"

"Of course not," scoffs Changbin even as he rubs at his wrist. "What the hell was that? You know Seungmin?"

"We met up yesterday," Minho says. Technically not a lie.

"Oookay." Changbin stares. The cogs turning in his head are almost visible. "And?"

Minho grimaces. "And I may have… made him… kinda angry?"

"Whoa, really?" Chan asks, sitting back down opposite them, holding the big bag of soda Jisung brought in. "If I'd known I wouldn't have pressed for you to come."

Changbin blanches and turns to Minho, horrified at being overheard. Minho just shakes his head. _It's fine._ And he has the distinct impression that Chan either would've found out anyway or has already known the whole time, and is blatantly lying about not trying to have Minho come. "It's fine," Minho says aloud. "I wanted to see my friends, anyway."

"Wah," comments Changbin in a small voice, earning himself a smack in the arm for his efforts.

Minho smiles pleasantly at him, his hand raised to attack again. "Tell the other two and you're dead."

"I'm glad to hear that," Chan says, beaming. 

"Hyung!"

"The part about you wanting to come," corrects Chan, without a speck of remorse. "I've said this before, but you being here is something right, and things that are right with the universe carry a power multitudes larger than the sum of their parts. This is one of them. I can feel it."

Minho blinks. Changbin kicks Chan in the foot this time. "You're being weird again, hyung," he tells him.

"Hm?" Chan smiles confusedly for a bit, then goes, "Oh! Oh, right, sorry. Bad habit."

They seem to fall involuntarily silent, Minho included, as Seungmin emerges from the kitchen with his food. He glances at them only once before heading around them to join Yongbok, who bounces up and down excitedly next to his new friends. Jeongin immediately tries to nick a piece, but Seungmin smacks his hand away without looking. There's three band-aids on Seungmin's left hand. Two are beige, and the one on his wrist is printed with brightly coloured cartoons.

"Okay, time to go home," Minho mutters to himself.

"Aw, don't be like that," Chan interjects cheerily. "Here, I'll talk to him. Hey everybody," he calls out before Minho can protest. "Thanks for coming by at such short notice! It's about time I told you that the party you're all here about is in Seungmin's honour! He'll turn twenty-one next Tuesday."

Yongbok shrieks with delight. Chan must have taught him well—Minho can barely associate this excitable boy with the awkwardly polite, if exuberant, Starbucks barista they'd met yesterday. Even Jeongin smiles, shifting himself closer to Seungmin and dragging his big pillow with him.

Seungmin had told him he'd had fun with these people who he'd met, after Minho— _After Minho,_ in sharp Latin capitals like an era passed. After that first year, any mention of a birthday would cause his smile to go taut, and a bit more of Kim Seungmin would flake away. Today his eyes simply soften, curving prettily upwards at Chan's words. 

Why is Minho here? Kim Seungmin is happy, content. He's found people who care about him. Minho doesn't need to be here.

"Seungmin's told me he doesn't want something too grand," Chan continues, understandably oblivious to Minho's internal berating, handing out cans of Sprite and Coke as he speaks. "So I've taken the liberty to invite everyone here, and only everyone here! No plus ones without going through me first."

Hyunjin laughs awkwardly at this, then slumps back against Jisung with his Coke when no one joins him.

"Today's just a bit of a vibe session for our finalised guest list. We'll sort out the details closer to the date," finishes Chan. "Thanks again for coming to hang out, guys."

Jisung cracks open his soda like he's trying to do it as loud as possible. "What's with the prim-and-proper-ness, hyung?" he demands, once he's successfully interrupted Chan completely. "'Course we're glad to be here."

Yongbok nods. He's the only one who's empty-handed; Chan appears to have revoked his soda rights. "Want to see everyone _and_ Seungmin's birthday," he says brightly, unbothered by his lack of sugary drink.

 _This is the_ finalised _list?_ Minho wants to ask. _Are you sure?_

Chan had done all the talking, but everyone seems to draw in closer to Seungmin, who doesn't appear to notice as he eats his late lunch. "Hyung!" Jisung calls, hand outstretched from the other side of the circle. "Ditch Changbin and come over here, I gotta tell you something."

Changbin scoffs and pulls away from Minho to tackle Jisung, who squeaks and tries to make an escape. "You got secrets? Huh?" growls Changbin as he attempts to put Jisung in a headlock. "You got secrets, punk?"

In the middle of all the hubbub, Chan's turned to Seungmin. They speak in low tones, too quiet amidst the noise for Minho to hear. Chan asks a question. Seungmin pauses. Then he turns sharply around and his eyes lock with Minho's, dark and brilliant and piercing. 

Minho, caught staring, jerks back in surprise. But Seungmin just blinks, slow and deliberate, and turns back to Chan. He nods, just once, in response to Chan's question.

The world begins to move again. 

"Hyung, are you listening to me!"

Jisung's voice snaps Minho back to reality, and he pulls air into his lungs as he gets to his feet. Changbin seems to have gotten bored of messing with Jisung and just leans against him quietly now, looking sleepy. "I don't think I heard you that time," says Minho as he navigates around the group to get to their side. "Wanna say that again?"

" _HYUNG—"_ Changbin jolts awake as Jisung begins to holler, until Jeongin's hand snaps up and over his mouth and he chokes over the rest of his sentence.

"Jisung-hyung," states Jeongin, in a voice like cream. "Too loud." 

Jisung stays very, very still. For a moment Minho thinks he might have passed out sitting upright. "Gotcha," he finally replies, but Jeongin's stopped touching him and has already turned his attention elsewhere. "Um. Hyung, what?"

"Nothing," says Minho, deadpan as he scoots closer to them. Here, Seungmin's only a couple shoulder-lengths away, laughing at something Yongbok's said. "You called me here."

Jisung stares. "Damn it," he says. "I forgot what I was gonna say."

Sighing, Minho grabs a random cushion and sticks it against Jisung's arm. "I'm sick of you," he says, leaning against it. 

"I can't move," Jisung complains.

Hyunjin slinks over to them, tail flicking behind him. "What's this, what's this?" 

"Glad you could pull yourself away, loverboy," Minho says sweetly.

"Be _quiet,"_ Hyunjin hisses, smacking Minho on the arm as he adds himself to the Jisung pile by sitting on the human boy's legs. Minho _looks_ at him. "I'mverysorry," he hurries to add.

Yongbok babbles animatedly to Chan, who matches his energy in response while Seungmin listens with a little smile. At one point Yongbok gestures, presumably in Hyunjin's direction, and Seungmin looks over and catches Minho's eye again. His brows furrow, though not with anger. _What,_ Minho reads off his lips.

 _Sorry,_ is all Minho mouths back.

For a moment Seungmin sits still, then turns away for a moment, blinking rapidly. When he turns back his face is composed. No words are spoken as he returns his attention to his friends, but Minho reads it in the set of his mouth and the glare with no bite: _you're on thin ice._

"Hyung, what's so funny?" Jisung jostles his arm.

Had he been smiling? Minho brings a hand up to his mouth; yes, it's there, sitting on his face. He shrugs at Jisung. "Isn't it funny when you throw a ball and a dog brings it back, but also maybe you're the dog? Maybe you're both dogs."

"Wow. In plain Korean, please."

"Your Chan-hyung's friends are funny."

Jisung sweeps his gaze over the four people beside them, lingering for a moment. "Yeah," he says. "I guess they are."

“One, two, three,” Chan suddenly calls from his side of the room, clapping time.

“Ah?” says Jisung.

“ _Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you,”_ sing Chan and his boys. Minho’s are quick on the uptake as well, chorusing in with the rest of the song seamlessly while Jisung freezes his face in shocked surprise. The third line descends into scrambled chaos as everyone sings a different rendition of Jisung’s name, but at the end Chan throws himself at Jisung with his arms outstretched and Yongbok gleefully joins in, followed by everyone else.

Crushed in between Changbin’s elbow and what he thinks is Jeongin’s shoulder behind him, laughing to the sound of Jisung’s exasperated yelling, Minho wonders when he’d last felt this warm.

**Grouped Chat**

this is still misrepresentation

 **bini**  
but you had fun!!!

you did have fun didnt u

🙂

 **bini**  
i'm scared

 **han ᶘ ᵒᴥᵒᶅ jisung**  
hyunjin had fun! :)

 **bini**  
of course he did :)

 **hyun E**  
i breathed

 **bini**  
u have to breathe?

 **hyun E**  
u think these lungs are just for show?

 **bini**  
nvm i don't like this

 **hyun E**  
exactly

breathing is a damned pain

 **han ᶘ ᵒᴥᵒᶅ jisung**  
wat was misrepresented tho

 **bini**  
hyung was telling me he wouldn't  
have gone if he knew there was  
no planning anyway

 **han ᶘ ᵒᴥᵒᶅ jisung**  
but i would have been so lonely :(

🙄

 **han ᶘ ᵒᴥᵒᶅ jisung**  
:(((

those three boys liked u fine

 **han ᶘ ᵒᴥᵒᶅ jisung**  
they did didnt they!

finally people who appreciate  
my winning personality

**bini**

hey hyung!

i hope it was ok with  
seungmin there 

i can tell chan-hyung to  
lay off if it's real bad

our changbinnie~

is a good child~~~

hyung i'm seriousss

**Grouped Chat**

**han ᶘ ᵒᴥᵒᶅ jisung**  
but hyung was plenty  
distracted too 👀

 **hyun E**  
oho? 

yes

it was very noisy and i couldnt  
focus on everything

so i stared at nothing a lot

 **han ᶘ ᵒᴥᵒᶅ jisung**  
u know what im taking about!!!

huh

 **bini**  
stop bothering hyung omg

 **han ᶘ ᵒᴥᵒᶅ jisung**  
bro u didnt see it

he was smiling at something!!

 **hyun E**  
scary

its like when kkami will bark  
but theres nothing there...…

 **bini**  
ur scared of ghosts?

 **han ᶘ ᵒᴥᵒᶅ jisung**  
how old are u

 **bini**  
ghosts are more afraid of u  
than u are of them

 **han ᶘ ᵒᴥᵒᶅ jisung**  
ur literally a devil

 **hyun E**  
next time either of u do laundry

be alert :)

**bini**

everythings ok now so dont  
worry ur little head about it

if you're sure hyung

how do you even know  
this guy

if u don't mind me asking

its a secret ♡

……...

youll find out next tuesday~~

why's everyone been talking  
so weird lately

chan-hyung said that to me too

listen to ur hyungs and you  
will grow up big and strong!

ok good night lee minho-hyung.

↺

The next time it happens, Minho is twelve.

It's a bit of a walk back to the farm from the bus stop, but it's always a pleasant one. He's walked this road a hundred times before but the sky is different every day and the trees whisper a different song each time, and if he's lucky he might see a bird, or a dog, or a maybe even a cat.

On that hot summer day, where the air feels like soup and his clothes stick to his skin, Minho spots a glimmer of something in the trees.

"Hello," someone says.

Minho stops and turns around. The big dirt road is empty, save for a few old tire tracks. He turns back and keeps walking.

"Hello. What's your name?"

He walks slightly faster.

"What's your name? You're so cute! What's your name, child?"

 _Don't speak,_ says his mother's voice in his head. _Don't listen._ Out of the corner of his eye, something bright flutters against the movement of the wind. The road home seems to stretch out ahead of him, farther than it ever had.

"Don't be afraid," says the voice. It doesn't sound like… anything. It is neither high nor low, raspy or clear. Minho isn't even sure if it's speaking Korean. What sticks in his mind the most, even after so long, is the strange impression that he'd been listening to wordless, unidentifiable music. "I'm fun!" it laughs. "You can come play with me. Isn't it hard? Aren't things hard?"

His classmate had looked at him funny when he spoke again. During break, he'd fumbled an easy pass and lost his team the game, but they'd make him use up his break again tomorrow because there wasn't anyone else to do it. Things that wouldn't mean anything in two, three years, but weigh down the backpack on his shoulders on a hot Thursday afternoon. 

"Yes," he whispers, before he can think better of it.

"Yes!" the voice echoes excitedly. "Yes, yes. It's hard. It's hard to be a child, it's hard to be a person."

Minho thinks of the cold, confused eyes of someone who he'd thought of as a friend. "It's hard," he agrees.

Something feather-light seems to brush past his cheek, but when he touches his face in a panic there is nothing there. "There's nothing to worry about when you play with me. You don't have to worry when you're playing with me," the voice tells him.

"No," says Minho, but it comes out unsure, malleable. "You'll take me away. I don't want to leave."

"Who says I'll take you away?"

"My mom, my dad, _harabeoji_ and _halmeonie."_ Minho makes himself keep walking, but the split path that takes him back to the farm is nowhere in sight. He walks past another tire track, smudged into the dirt and sand of the road. "Everyone says I'll be taken away."

"They're jealous and selfish," croons the voice. "You are lovely. You are beautiful. They do not wish to share."

Something about the words feels unkind, but Minho can't place it. "They're not bad people," he says instead, thinking of his grandmother's warm hugs and his grandfather's gentle hands.

"They are, they are!" The voice sounds almost beside itself with fury. "Keeping you away from us, letting you have a hard time being a little human boy! Unforgivable. Unforgivable." Again a touch of gossamer brushes his cheek, and he shivers. "Not letting you have fun. Not letting you play with us!"

When Minho walks past the next tire track, he finally realises it's been the same one all along.

He starts to run, kicking up dust behind him that he knows is going to get all over his school shoes and he's going to have to wash them all over again, but he doesn't care. "I don't want to play," he shouts. "I don't want to play with you! I want to go home!"

"Now, now," says the voice, as though Minho hadn't just yelled at it. "You haven't even tried it yet! You should try it."

"I don't want to!" Minho screams. "Go away!" The sound should scatter into the forest, startling birds from their roosts—he knows, he's done it before. But his own voice seems to be swallowed up by the very air around him, and his voice never reaches the trees.

The voice seems to sigh, despite not drawing breath. "You just have to be difficult, don't you? That's all right. I will just have to show you." This time, something much more solid than gossamer grasps the back of his shirt collar, and _pulls._

Minho opens his mouth to scream. There is a sound _like_ a scream, but it takes Minho a while to realise it isn't coming from him. The grip on his collar loosens and he stumbles forward, running a few paces to stabilize himself before he looks back.

Standing, floating there about a foot off the dirt road, is a creature. It isn't human. Its limbs are too long, its torso the wrong shape and its skin too translucent. Hair the colour of straw hangs off its head in a curtain, and from its back springs colour and light that Minho's human eyes refuse to parse into shapes. The screaming noise comes from its cherry-red mouth as it clutches its own hand, which would've appeared to be burnt if it had blood of any colour at all.

A memory flashes into his mind, of his mother bent over all his clothes, sewing thin strips of metal into the hems of each piece. Iron, lining every part of him.

Minho takes a step back. The creature's head snaps up, impossibly quick, and its eyes burn into him in searing gold and deep, dark green. Minho turns and runs and runs and runs and doesn't look back. He doesn't notice when the road comes back and the path home comes into view, and he doesn't stop until he bursts through the door of the house and collapses, panting, onto the floor.

They move to Seoul by the year's end.

↺

Monday passes quickly, with birthday messages spammed in the group chat, and so does Tuesday. Work is the same, papers and spreadsheets and checking records. One of his coworkers complains about his home life for a bit during lunch, and that's the most exciting thing that happens for a couple of days. Minho is used to it. The routine calms him, gives him time to think even though the events of the weekend creep into his mind more often than not.

When Minho clocks out of work on Wednesday evening, Hyunjin's waiting for him in the lobby. His black leather pants and oversized print sweater clash terribly with the concrete walls. He's got on one of those beanies with the slits that let horns and other alternative bone structures through, and the effect of his shining black ram's horns curled tightly against the fabric is striking. A modern devil, with the forbidding good looks to match.

The moment he spots Minho stepping out of the card exits, Hyunjin's handsome face breaks into a wide smile and he starts to jump up and down. The appreciative looks from the other people in the building turn to ones of astonishment. 

A weird sort of warmth wells up in Minho's chest. "To what do I owe this honour," he says, raising his eyebrows.

Hyunjin just takes him by the arm and grins, tail flicking back and forth. "Let's grab dinner," he cheers.

Dinner is _samgyetang,_ at a restaurant Hyunjin saw on the way to Minho's office that he insists on trying. It's not bad. Minho doesn't have anything to share, so he relates his coworker's sob story about his sibling troubles. Hyunjin laughs, and tells him much more shocking tales from Hell itself.

"Hyunjin," Minho starts, during a lull in the conversation. "What do you know about faeries?"

Hyunjin swallows his mouthful of soup and rice. "That's a weird question from you, hyung," he replies. "I gotta say I don't know a lot. Um, they have a realm of their own, just like we have ours, and they pop by every now and then to mess with humans and kidnap them and stuff. Also they have to pay taxes to us once a year." He shrugs and adds, "And they've tried to kidnap you before. That's about it. Why, though? You definitely know more about them than I do."

Minho stirs his soup pensively. "I thought there was a chance that Hell had some dirt on Faery," he says.

"Oh!" Hyunjin nods in understanding. "They might! _We_ might. I'm just way too far down the ranks to have access to that sort of information."

"Sigh," says Minho. "Why do I keep you around?"

"Because I'm beautiful." Hyunjin bats his eyelashes at him. "And you love me."

Minho beams. "I remember now! Jisung said you guys save so much money on matches and gas."

The saccharine smile on Hyunjin's face falls away and an annoyed squint takes its place. "That Han Jisung," he grumbles. "Why do you need to know, anyway? Are you planning some sort of revenge? Counterattack?"

"I'm just one guy, Hwang Hyunjin. How much damage could I possibly do."

Hyunjin shrugs again. "I dunno. Lots? You're the fae expert, you tell me."

"I'm not an expert." Reading and memorising story after story just to give himself any advantage possible against fae whims doesn't make him an expert, it makes him a weirdo. A paranoid weirdo. "But I guess humans that break into Faery itself have usually gotten what they want."

"See, there ya go," Hyunjin says. "Just break in there and tell them to leave you the damn alone."

"Sure, Hyunjin. I'll just do that."

"Glad to be of service."

As a devil, even a young one, Hyunjin has his ways of dealing with the economic systems of the mortal world. But Minho pays, because he's the working adult and the _hyung_ and Hyunjin still gets confused about credit cards sometimes. The devil himself hangs off his arm like a gangly, handsome barnacle. "Hehe, thanks hyung!"

"At least there's only one of you this time," Minho sighs. 

"They're still in class, probably," Hyunjin says, all lackadaisical as they leave the restaurant and head for the station. 

"And you aren't?"

"I didn't feel like going," Hyunjin chirps without a shred of remorse.

"That is… extremely unlike you."

He sticks his arms behind his head and yawns exaggeratedly. "Maybe I'm going full bad boy, hyung. Ever considered that?"

It's more trouble than it's worth to go to bat with Hyunjin's theatrics, so Minho drops the matter. The little devil hums to himself for a bit as they walk, then turns to him curiously. "Aren't you gonna ask why I'm here?"

Minho looks at him. "You'd tell me if you wanted me to know."

"You could ask once in a while," Hyunjin whines, with no real annoyance behind it. "I don't wanna tell you anymore.”

"Then don't," replies Minho. He waits for Hyunjin's face to fall, then adds, "So what is it."

Hyunjin pushes out his bottom lip in an impressive pout. "Can't I just want to see my favouritest hyung?" 

Minho just stares, unimpressed.

For once, this makes Hyunjin laugh. "It's true, sourpuss." He stretches his arms out behind him, then swings them back and forth as he bobs alongside Minho. "I don't know. I've been feeling funny since we hung out with those guys this weekend."

"Did they put a curse on you," says Minho, even though he's pretty sure he knows what Hyunjin's talking about.

"Jisung did say Chan was probably a warlock," Hyunjin muses. "I don't think it's a curse, though. It feels… nice, somehow."

Minho pulls a face. "Masochist."

Hyunjin slaps at Minho's arm, then ducks away before Minho can lift a single finger in retaliation. "Just because I'm a devil doesn't mean you can make fun of me!" he yells as he dashes further down the street. "I have feelings too! Ah don't come any closer!!"

"We're walking in the same direction."

"I'll text the other two and tell them to call the police!"

"Would they, though?"

Hyunjin lobs a tiny fireball at him. It misses completely, of course, but it still strikes the damp ground beside his shoe with a crackle and a pop and Minho takes this as his cue to run toward Hyunjin at a dead sprint.

They scream ( _Hyunjin_ screams, Minho doesn't scream, absolutely not) all the way to the station, until Hyunjin lets himself be grabbed by the middle and swung in a haphazard circle. Minho knows they're making a scene, but he doesn't care. "I've been cursed too," he pants, tossing Hyunjin back onto his feet. "It's terrible."

Hyunjin laughs and laughs and leans heavily into Minho for support, as though his shorter, wobblier legs would hold them both. "Do we have to wait for the weekend again," he huffs into Minho's shoulder.

"Go to class. Go hang out with those two."

"But my favourite hyung would be lonely," Hyunjin wails, throwing his bony arms around Minho's neck. "I'm happy I got to see you today, hyung," he continues, quieter, for only Minho to hear as he squeezes him in a hug.

Minho pats at Hyunjin's back with both hands, measuring out a little rhythm. "Mm-hmm," he replies.

"Don't plan anything on your weekend," orders Hyunjin. "Come see us."

"I already cancelled one class last time," Minho tells him, even though his mind is already whirling, thinking of ways to get out of his obligations. "I have to keep my word."

" _Hyu-u-u-ng,"_ says Hyunjin, turning the simple sound into one with multiple syllables.

Minho rubs the top of Hyunjin's head, right between the horns, then shoves him off of him. "You already saw me today, so no complaining that you'll miss me. Get out of here."

Hyunjin's chased into his side of the station, and waves mournfully all the way down the escalator until he's out of Minho's sight, his tail mirroring the forlorn movement. It's a curse, Minho's sure—the moment he's left alone the itch comes back full force, when it'd previously been dulled by the routine of work and then by Hyunjin's presence. _I want to be with them,_ cries the little feeling that claws inside his ribcage. _Them._ A group of boys gathered in someone else's living room, and in the middle of them all a young man with soft eyes that look brown to anyone else, about to turn twenty-one. _With them._

"Cursed," Minho mutters aloud to himself, startling the old lady waiting beside him in line for the train. Tomorrow will be a Thursday, then a Friday, and then after the weekend that follows, _the_ Tuesday. He is cursed in more ways than one, and so Minho will block off that Tuesday with his boss, just in case.

Thursday passes, uneventful.

On his way to work that Friday, Minho looks down at what should've been his breakfast in his hand, but instead appears to be a paper bag of… little brown grains. Rice? Wheat. A paper bag full of wheat grains in place of the wholemeal sandwich he’d brought that morning.

He picks one out and throws it against a wall. It bounces off it with a neat little _tik_ and lands somewhere near his shoe.

"Of course," he gripes to himself. "Of course it has to be on a work Friday."

He doesn't _hear_ the laughter, not in the endless drone of the morning commute, but he knows it's there. He can feel it, like a low, annoying thrum in the back of his mind.

The cold metal and concrete of the city had kept him mostly safe from being pixie-led or mazed, but there's only so much he can coat in protective iron. Carry bread, countless accounts say, as it will sate the fair folk before they turn their hungers on you. Minho supposes he can't exactly refute that now.

There’s an annoying ache somewhere in the back of his throat, which he stamps out impatiently as he scans the crowd as much as he can and forces himself to focus. If they've found him, then he needs to turn his socks inside out to throw them off; there’s also a convenience store a short walk from the office, where he can try for breakfast again. Something minor like this will _not_ get in the way of his morning.

He's sitting barefoot on a mostly concealed area of sidewalk, his shoes beside him as he diligently turns his socks inside out, when someone walks towards him and stops before his little campsite. "I know,” he tells them without looking up. “I'm sorry for the inconvenience, I'll move as soon as possible."

There's a short heartbeat of silence. Something about it strikes _right_ , clicks satisfyingly in his head, and he is unsurprised that it is Kim Seungmin who scoffs, "I was wondering why you smelled funny."

Minho isn’t surprised, but it doesn’t stop the tightness in his throat from coming back full force. “Are you calling me stinky, Kim Seungmin?” he forces himself to say.

Kim Seungmin doesn’t roll his eyes, but he clearly wants to. “Says the one who has his nasty socks on full display right now.”

“They’re clean. I wash them.” His socks sufficiently flipped, Minho slips his work shoes back on and stands so he doesn’t have Seungmin looming over him. “What are you, a bloodhound? If this wasn’t enough to throw you off my scent then maybe I should just go home before all the other fair folk come knocking.”

Seungmin huffs, offended. “I’m not some bored pixie trying to lead you in circles. I have a life. I just happened to pick up something like your trail, but not, and I was curious. That’s all.”

 _And you decided to take time off your life to come looking?_ Minho stifles the thought. Seungmin does seem to have a life; he’s dressed for the street, in a long stripey button-up, slacks folded midway up his calf and another beret perched on his head. His ankles are out. Minho processes this information, then realises too late that he’s staring and snaps his gaze back up to Seungmin’s face. “Uh, where you going,” he says, lamely.

The question seems to surprise Seungmin, who blinks at him. “I have class?” he replies, like it’s a question. “I change trains here.” Remember?

“Right.” Of course. 

They stand there for a moment, in a bubble of space outside of the flowing crowd. _Bye_ doesn’t sound right. _See you later_ is presumptuous, and just the thought of leaving without saying anything makes him feel nauseous. Minho is frozen in place, onstage and his steps forgotten, watching Seungmin’s iridescent eyes watch him. 

“I smell fae on you,” Seungmin finally says, crossing his arms over his chest as he shatters the silence.

“Obviously,” says Minho in a hurry, relieved that words spring to his tongue again. “Why else would I bother to flip my socks?”

Seungmin just taps his finger impatiently against his arm.

It takes a while for Minho to gingerly fish the bag of grains out of his purse, careful not to spill any in his bag. He hands it over to Seungmin, who takes it just as carefully. Their fingers don’t touch.

Seungmin peers curiously into the little paper bag. "Heh," is all he says, when he's done.

“What?”

“It’s funny,” he explains, and there’s a little bit of familiar mischief playing about his lips. “I don’t know if I’d have thought of this. This kinfolk has a sense of humour.”

Minho crosses his arms. “Don’t they all.”

“Some only think they do.” Seungmin folds the paper back down for a moment, then rolls it back open and hands it back to Minho, who peers warily into it without touching it. For all anyone can tell, this Nutella sandwich had always been a Nutella sandwich and nothing else, certainly not wheat grains. “It’s real, you scaredy-cat," Seungmin jibes. "Just take it.”

Minho pinches the paper shut with the minimum number of fingers required and lifts it out of Seungmin’s hand. “Thank you,” he says.

“Whatever,” replies the not-boy, who turns and walks away without another word, disappearing into the throng of people. 

Wait. “Seungmin,” Minho calls, a second too late, when there is no longer anyone to hear him. Both the words and the person himself are swallowed instantly—falling leaves, melting into a forest floor. Minho is left with a stale sandwich in his hands and the scent of glamour around him, thick and heady, like perfumed ozone in his lungs.

Maybe Kim Seungmin had enchanted him, the first time they met. But Minho doesn’t really care.

It'd been a moonlit, hazy Friday. Saturday, technically. It’s too late at night, too late for Minho to be out, and he knows it. But the campus is always well-lit, even in the wee hours of morning, and he hasn't been tricked or swindled in a week and he's feeling a little bit invincible. He stays back late to practice, offers to lock up the clubroom, and takes his time packing up. It's almost one in the morning when he finally steps out into the night's chill.

In the middle of the campus ground, stretching out towards the sky from a wide hole in the stone paths, stands a large maple tree. ( _Acer formosum,_ Seungmin had whispered into his ear, on one of those evenings. Minho had snorted and called him a nerd.) It's just a tree—students and faculty walk past it without a second glance, with only the sun and rain and maybe the occasional gardener keeping it company.

Today, someone is seated on the cold stone floor beside it, staring up into its leaves with their backpack on the ground beside them. Spring is still young, and the person has wrapped themselves in a thick coat against the cold. Maybe a dryad, or a nymph, or something. _What an idiot,_ Minho remembers thinking. They'd get cold anyway, sitting on the damp floor like that. He pulls his own jacket tighter around himself. 

He's about halfway across the square when he hears the singing—at first a low humming, muffled by the wind. Then the words come, and the voice becomes clearer, brighter, light but husky. It's a song about birds and trees and home, and images form unbidden in Minho's mind: the farm, the forest, the stars visible over the beaten dirt road.

When Minho thinks back on it now, he sees that night for what it is: a series of stupid decisions that should have gotten him spirited away or worse. But when the boy by the tree finally notices his approach and looks up with warm brown eyes, moonlit and refreshingly, painfully human, Minho can't find it in himself to feel anything other than _lucky._

"It's cold," Minho had said, when the singing stopped.

The human boy doesn't move from his spot, only blinking up at him. "I know," he replies, and it sounds courteous, even if the words aren't.

"You should go home," adds Minho. 

"I will," the boy retorts, once again exceedingly polite. The meaning is clear: _you_ go home.

A rebellious curiosity comes over Minho, and he flops down on the ground a short distance away from the boy—then shoots back up because _gods that's cold,_ he doesn't have a long coat like him to sit on. Lifting himself to a crouch instead, he clears his throat and says, "Will the tree hear you?"

The boy watches him strangely as Minho bounces on his feet, but doesn't protest the intrusion. "I don't know," says the boy, looking back up at the branches that stretch over them both, dark against the night sky overhead. "It'd be nice if it did, I guess, but I just like to do it."

"You're here often?"

"Only when I'm studying late."

“And that happens often?”

There’s a small smile on the boy’s lips as he glances Minho’s way. “Not for a couple more years, maybe.” He extends a hand across the distance between them, and says, “Kim Seungmin. Freshman, Business major.”

Minho scoots a little closer, but puts out his fist instead until Kim Seungmin curls up his fingers to match. “Lee Minho, Accounting, junior year,” he says as he bumps knuckles with this strange boy, careful that the rings on his fingers don’t hit him too sharply.

Seungmin’s fist is almost a full knuckle wider and his fingers are gently calloused, but he takes his hand away before Minho can try to figure out if they're from music, or sports, or something. "Math," he says, like he's talking about food he can't stand, then seems to realise he's being impolite to a senior and adds, "sorry."

Minho only shrugs. "Hey, I get it. It'll pay the bills, though." He lifts an eyebrow. "And you're in Business?"

"Pays the bills," Seungmin echoes.

Stretching back up to his full height, Minho yawns widely, bouncing on his heels. His calves are going to be sore tomorrow, crouching for this long right after practice. "Seems like we're boring people!" he announces.

This makes Seungmin smile again, a quick flash of white under the chapped pink of his lips. He gets up, too; he's about Minho's height, but the roundness of his face suggests it won't stay that way for long. "What's a boring person doing in school this late?" he asks.

"Studying," Minho deadpans.

Seungmin blinks once, slowly, then tilts his head a little as he studies Minho's face. "No, really," he says, completely serious.

It catches Minho by surprise, just enough that he feels himself grinning in response. "I'm with the hip-hop club," he confesses.

Seungmin's mouth forms a little 'o' of surprise. _Refreshingly honest,_ Minho finds himself thinking. "They make you stay out this late?" 

"There's a competition next week."

"And they're either forcing everyone to work extra hard," says Seungmin, "or you're one of those overworking try-hard types."

 _Too_ honest. Minho pretends to wince. "Wah, that stings."

Seungmin lets out a sudden little laugh, like he'd been startled into it, but composes himself quickly. "I'm sorry," he says again, embarrassed. "That was a bit…"

"So what's your boring reason for being here?" Minho cuts in, rocking back on his heels. "What am I interrupting?"

"Me?" asks Seungmin, eyes widening. "I… I really was studying, like I said. I really am just boring," he says, then glances away as he laughs to himself. At himself. His lips are turned prettily upwards even as he looks down at his feet, as his lashes throw shadows across his cheekbones in the cold lamp-light.

Minho blinks, and blinks. It's this strangely clear night, or the baseless confidence he's feeling, or the way this strange, singing boy looks at him, but he asks Seungmin aloud, "Do you want to come watch?"

"Watch?" Seungmin asks. There it is again: a piercing, almost wary gaze, like Minho's a difficult crossword. 

"The competition. It's not too far from campus." He names a mall about a bus ride away; Seungmin seems to know it by the flicker of recognition on his face. "It's Tuesday. In the evening. If you don't have night classes."

For a few moments Seungmin seems to be completely still, with his lips slightly parted. Then they move, like he means to speak, but it's a while longer before he manages, "Why—no— _yes."_ The word itself seems to startle him, and he jolts back to life. "Yes. Okay. I don't have class."

"That's great," Minho says. "Our set is at around seven, if nothing goes wrong. But it usually does, so feel free to be late."

Seungmin's clearly struggling to stay composed. Minho's not even sure what his own face looks like, right now. His mind's whirling too quickly for him to care— _stay, stay, get him to stay_ —as Seungmin simply replies, "Okay."

"It's at the big stage area in the middle of the mall. You can't miss it."

"I know the place."

"Okay," Minho says. "Seriously, you don't have to come if you don't want to."

Seungmin nods. "I'll see."

"Alright. Bye-bye, then." _What was that song you were singing?_

("I wrote it myself," Seungmin tells him over the straw of his bubble tea, something milky but without pearls, because they get in his teeth. "What? You don't think I could?") ("I didn't, I didn't, it was—I just _knew_ it, and I never realised, I—this doesn't—")

"Get home safe," Minho says with a little wave of his hand.

At this Seungmin smiles again, surprisingly warm. "I will, Minho-sshi."

Minho nods, and nods, and forces his feet to start moving towards the only side gate open at this hour. "Okay. See you." 

"See you."

Each word of their awkward exchange replays in Minho's head every time he kicks himself for not asking for the strange boy's number, which he does quite often for the rest of the weekend. But he puts it aside and practices hard, and at the end of their set on Tuesday he looks into the small crowd from onstage and spots a pair of warm brown eyes on him.

Everything comes after, and then everything ends.

The Nutella sandwich tastes fine. Minho stares blankly at the figures on his computer screen, wondering idly if it counts as fae food. 

↺

Class with the teenage group ends at around four. Some of his students are out the door as soon as he dismisses them, but most take their time packing up. A dopey lycanthrope snatches up his wallet and phone and bounds past him. "Bye, _seonsaengnim!"_ he calls out, then shouts over his shoulder, "Juyeon, hurry up!"

The tall golem boy lumbers towards him as well, the strap of his messenger bag tiny in his hands as he slings it over his shoulder. "See you next week, _seonsaengnim,"_ he says shyly, in a voice like falling rocks.

Minho's just swigged a big mouthful of water. "Mm-hrm," he warbles unglamorously in response. 

"Juyeon!" The werewolf boy runs back through the door and leaps at the golem, who catches him easily and swings him up onto his shoulders. "Let's go, let's go," chants the werewolf, swinging his legs and hammering at Juyeon's shoulders with his fists.

Two more of his students walk past them. The elegant satyr gives Minho a high-five and a fist-bump, then slaps Juyeon on the shoulder as his bat-winged friend giggles and waves beside him.

A dirty blond head pokes his head around the door. "Oh, _hyung,_ aren't you popular!" Jisung crows.

Minho finally manages to swallow his mouthful of water. "Get in here before someone sees you and throws you out," he says, tossing the plastic water bottle at Jisung.

"Goootcha," drawls Jisung as catches the bottle easily with one hand, then makes himself comfortable on the table at the side of the classroom. "Bye," he says to the retreating teens, "shoo! Bye-bye!"

"What is it," Minho demands, putting himself between Jisung and the giggling, pointing teens heading out the door. 

"Watch this," replies Jisung as he flips the bottle in mid-air. They both watch as it slams loudly onto its side on the table.

"Okay," says Minho. "Is that all?"

"Dinner plans?" Jisung curls his fingers into guns and points them at Minho. "Got any?"

Minho frowns. "No. But I'll have one if I don't like the next words out of your mouth."

"Man, don't be like that. Come on." Jisung spreads his arms as the last of Minho's students vacate the classroom. "You'll like this."

Minho narrows his eyes.

"Dinner… with… the guys," says Jisung, slowly. When Minho's expression doesn't change, he adds, "and also… Chan's guys. Ah, ah, no, come on! Don't be like that," he pleads as Minho turns away and starts packing up his things. "You had fun last time, yeah? Right?"

" _Ding-dong-daeng,"_ sings a voice from outside. A small, lithe woman stands in the doorway, dressed in a sports bra and grey joggers. Smooth dark feathers sprout in elegant lines along her brows, growing long enough at the scalp to be tied back as hair. "Oh, who's this?"

" _Nuna,"_ Minho greets as he grabs his bag, and Jisung immediately slides off the table, looking abashed. "Sorry, I'll let you use the room now."

Mina shakes her head gently. "It's no issue. My girls won't all show till ten minutes in, anyway. Friend of yours?"

"Yes, we're going for dinner. He doesn't mean to be a bother."

"I don't mean to be a bother," Jisung repeats obediently, then shoots Minho a dirty look.

"Enjoy your dinner, you two," Mina tells them, waving as she begins setting up her class.

"Thank you. Have a good class, nuna."

"Will do!"

"So you're coming for dinner!" Jisung cheers, once they're out and waiting for the elevator. The dance studio Minho works part-time at occupies just half a floor of the office building, but they've done up their walls in black and bold yellow accents, and it's quite the sight opposite the modest travel agency they're neighbours with. Jisung himself looks out of place in all respects, in a long orange shirt and clunky high-tops with a heel that Minho wouldn't even try dancing in. "I gotta text Chan-hyung."

"You and Changbin just report everything about me to Bang Chan? Is that ethical? I want a lawyer."

"Do you want a share of the pizza or not?"

"Tell him I'm coming."

Jisung elbows Minho without looking as he texts. "He says, 'pineapple OK?'"

"Anything's fine."

"Okay, and, sent! Ah, there's no signal in here."

"Where are we meeting the other two?"

"Outside."

Two figures lounge against the painted concrete wall of the building, one short and one less short. The gorgon man is calmly scrolling through something on his phone, while the devil beside him tries to have a conversation with the snakes he's eye-level with. "Seriously, I know you guys are messing with me," Hyunjin says, his tail swishing in time with the swaying of the snakes. "Just hiss if you understand what I'm saying."

Changbin's hair-serpents are usually docile, content to stay in the 'styling' he decides on that day, but now the entire top of Changbin's hairdo lifts their heads to stare silently at Hyunjin. 

"Hm," says Hyunjin. " _Don't_ hiss if you understand what I'm saying."

There's the cacophonous sound of dozens of snakes hissing at the same time. Even Changbin's own forked tongue slips out between his teeth while his eyes are still trained on his phone. Hyunjin throws up his hands in despair. "Okay, I get it! Lucifer help me."

"Hyunjin," Minho calls as they approach. "Why'd you send Jisung up to get me?"

"Hey," says Jisung, looking hurt.

"He wanted to, it wasn't me!" Hyunjin's hands come down to a more defensive stance. "Also I'm not going into your classroom again. Not after last time. You can just say hi to the girls for me."

"My kids don't bite," Minho protests.

"They literally do. They _literally_ do."

"Kev can't even give you lycanthropy, stop being a baby."

"Teeth are teeth!" yells Hyunjin.

"Baby, baby," Changbin taunts, finally finding the situation more interesting than his phone.

"Seo Changbin, you've never met those terrors so you are not allowed to have an opinion."

"Who?" Changbin asks, sweetly.

"Seo Changbinnie-hyung," corrects Hyunjin without missing a beat.

"Okay, Chan-hyung's gonna get pineapple," Jisung announces.

"He's crazy." protests Changbin, pushing himself off the wall and reaching his hand out towards Jisung. "Give me that."

"No! I want pineapple."

"Who gives a damn," is Hyunjin's input. "Can we just go?"

Jisung and Changbin pause in their battle over the one phone—the phone in Changbin's back pocket appearing to slip their mind completely—to stare in horror at Hyunjin. "You don't care?" Jisung asks, incredulous.

Hyunjin leans back a little, eyebrows pinched together. "Um, no."

"You have no stance on the age-old question of pineapples on pizza?"

"Like, no one's going to Hell for caring one way or the other," says Hyunjin warily. "Couldn't matter less to me."

Changbin lets out a scandalised gasp.

"I don't care either," Minho adds helpfully.

"Hyung, let's go," says Jisung, hooking his arm through Changbin's, their quarrel forgotten. "I can't be with these people anymore."

"Agreed," Changbin replies, and they march off together down the road.

Hyunjin and Minho watch them jauntily leave. "I don't know where dinner is," admits Hyunjin, after the two boys are just happy little figures in the near distance.

Minho sighs. "Let's just follow them."

When Minho's family had moved into the city, they'd chosen to make their home in the heart of it all, surrounded by concrete and metal and the constant, gentle rumbling of the road.

City life hadn't come easily to Minho. Sleeping was difficult those first few weeks, when nights were never truly silent or dark, but as the years passed and the pixy-tricks dwindled he began to see the hubbub as safety, comfort. His parents slowly stop looking at him like he'd disappear in the night, like he's a ghost, and he starts spending time outside with company, and finds that he enjoys it more than he expects. It's safe, in Seoul.

So when his boys get off at Ttukseom Station and make a beeline for the great expanse of green ahead, Minho feels his palms start to sweat.

"We're heading to the riverside bit," Changbin calls over his shoulder. Hyunjin's already run on ahead, trying to get selfies in the golden hour light.

"Romantic," Jisung comments to Minho, who huddles close as the trees begin to cast shadows over them. "Are you cold or something, hyung?"

 _I don't like trees_ sounds stupid, with the added insult of being fundamentally wrong. "A little bit," he says instead. It's always a little chillier once Hyunjin leaves the area, so it's an easy lie to fake. 

Minho doesn't know if Jisung buys it, but he says, "Let's huddle up, then!" and grabs Minho's hand as they walk under the canopies stretching high above them. If his hand shakes, Jisung doesn't say anything. 

Nothing bad happens by the time the trees part and Chan's posse comes into view, spread out across a series of mismatched mats, but it's still hard to relax his grip on Jisung’s hand. "It's okay, hyung," Jisung says quietly, giving his hand a quick squeeze as the other two jump the small group already seated on the grass. "We're all here. Nothing's gonna happen."

"You're included in that?" Minho jokes reflexively.

Jisung shrugs, says, "Chan’s sword can take over my spot, I guess," but doesn't let go of Minho's hand.

In true single-minded Hyunjin fashion, he's already seated next to Yongbok on the mat. Jeongin's shifting away from them, though either in disgust or in a bid to catch the retreating sunlight, Minho can't tell; he's unreadable as always. In a bit of a deja vu, Chan lifts his long sword off the mat and across his lap to make space for them all. It still sticks way out past his knees.

Kim Seungmin, seated in the middle of it all, looks up at the approaching pair, glances down at their joined hands, and turns to Chan and says, "Maybe if you didn't bring your sword, hyung."

Chan mutters something that sounds like "but what if he gets lonely", but Minho's too far away to be sure. 

It's Hyunjin who points at them and laughs through a bite of pizza, "It's a couple at the river!" Yongbok's delighted smile grows a little confused at the remark but he doesn't question it, content to nestle himself into Hyunjin's side with a soda in his hands.

Jisung gamely flips Hyunjin off and tugs Minho closer to the pizza boxes, so Minho's the one who has to wiggle his fingers until his hand is released. Jisung frowns at him as he lets go. 

"Just come get me if I'm taken," says Minho.

"I'd turn over every rock on this planet to find you," Jisung replies in full seriousness, at odds with the casual manner with which he claps Minho on the shoulder. Minho believes him.

Through all this, Seungmin watches them carefully, pretending to occupy himself with rearranging the pizza boxes. Minho doesn't need to look to know that Seungmin's doing this, but he catches a glimpse of brilliant gold anyway before Seungmin ducks his head away again. Only when Jisung snags a few pieces and heads out to bomb Changbin's selfies does Seungmin sit back down on the mat proper.

It's all very ridiculous. They have nothing to do with each other. He takes his share of dinner and pretends not to have been watching Seungmin back. 

Jeongin moving away means Minho can set up shop in his place, listening to Yongbok tell Hyunjin about his day out until Jisung baits him off the mat to chase a yelling, harried Changbin through the park. At first Chan only keeps a watchful eye on them as they go, but Changbin half-drags Chan himself onto the grass in an attempt to use him as a meat shield, gaining himself one more pursuer as a result.

"Where do they get the energy," comments Jeongin from the other side of their mat, holding a slice of pizza with all his fingers and talking with his mouth full. They watch as Chan puts on a sudden burst of speed and catches Changbin by the waist, easily hoisting his screaming friend up onto his shoulders.

Seungmin, who hasn't so much as spoken since he'd sat down, gets a look in his eye that Minho recognises as _I want to play_. "I'm sure you'll find it in yourself to run once you're chased," he says, waggling his fingers menacingly as he slides across the mat towards Jeongin.

"You wouldn't," Jeongin says, horrified, shrinking away and stuffing the rest of the pizza in his mouth.

With a mock growl, Seungmin leaps forward and pokes Jeongin in the ribs, who seems to almost flash step off the mat in his haste to get away. "Kim Seungmin," is what he probably yells through the dough and cheese between his teeth, dodging each 'attack' with an almost inhuman nimbleness.

"Run, little fox," cries Seungmin, and they go dashing across the grass until Changbin stumbles into Jeongin's path and they both fall over.

Left by themselves on the mat, Hyunjin gives Minho a look, then takes a dainty bite out of his own slice. "More for us," he says, resting his head on Minho's shoulder, and Minho doesn't remember why he'd ever been afraid.

They reconvene after the sky fades to indigo and the big lamps come on, lighting up various spots in the park. Yongbok decides that Minho will be the target of his attentions for the rest of the night and attaches himself to his arm, grass-stained and giggling. Minho ruffles Yongbok's unruly sparkling hair and puts a smug little smile on his face in response to Hyunjin's jealous glare.

"Hyung," Yongbok says, tugging at the sleeve of his studio tee.

"Hmm?"

Minho's well-acquainted with eyes, _someone's_ in particular. Those burn with volatile magics, sparking with gold and glitter, but they don't contain multitudes. Not the way Yongbok's do. In one moment his eyes are the dark, vast expanse of the universe, and in the next Minho glimpses the swirling life of a newborn galaxy and all its stars. Lights move and shift, supernovas flaring and dying in an instant, ever-changing. "Hyung," says the low, rumbling voice of the ageless, eternal being beside him. "Hyung, did you do an oopsie?"

"Eh?" replies Minho, intelligently.

"Did you do an oopsie," Yongbok asks again, and this time Minho gets the impression that he's trying to be discreet, lowering his voice further until Minho can barely make out each syllable. It seems to be working, at least: everyone else seems to be having their own conversations, and even Hyunjin's preoccupied with cooing over Chan's sword. Seungmin cracks open a can of soda, listening attentively to something Changbin is saying.

Yongbok tracks the direction of his gaze with his whole head, then turns back and tugs on his sleeve again. "Yes," he says. "Seungmin. What did you do?"

"I didn't—What do you mean," replies Minho, startled at being caught looking again and feeling quite out of his depth.

"You know," Yongbok pursues, quiet and insistent. "Seungmin is quiet when you're here. And whenever I talk to him he is looking at you like this." He points to his own face as he frowns, pressing his lips together and knitting his eyebrows deeply in what must be an impression of Seungmin.

Minho lets out a little laugh; he can't help it. "Really," he says. "He really does that?"

"It's funny?" asks Yongbok, looking confused now. "So it's not bad?"

"Um," says Minho, then checks to make sure no one's listening. "It's complicated," he tells Yongbok. "And he's your friend first, so it's not that nice to come asking me."

Yongbok wilts. "I did a bad thing."

"Whoa," says Minho in slight alarm. "It's really not that serious. I just don't want you to hurt his feelings by asking me instead of him."

"Asked him," Yongbok replies mournfully. "Didn't understand."

It makes sense. Minho doesn't suppose it'd be easy to explain their _thing_ to the avatar of a celestial new to their planet. "It's complicated," he says again. "But you don't have to worry about it. It's going to be okay."

The words stick heavily in his throat, but Yongbok eats up his lie none the wiser. "Really?" asks the little celestial, already brightening up and throwing his arms around Minho. "Yay! I like Seungminnie but I also like Minho-hyung."

"Why," Minho can't help but ask as he pats Yongbok's head again.

Yongbok rubs his face into Minho's shoulder. "Gentle," he says into the fabric of Minho's shirt. "Nice. Tells me things." 

Gentle? Minho will take any compliments he can get, though. "You're gentle and nice too, Yongbok." _Actually_ gentle and nice. Yongbok trills in delight and squeezes him tightly.

"Refills, anybody?" calls Chan, getting to his feet and stretching. "I'm gonna pop by the convenience stores real quick. Anybody wanna come with?"

Jisung gives him a thumbs up from where he's horizontal and taking up way too much space on the picnic mat. "Nope, I'm good."

"Okay, anyone else?" Seungmin shakes his head and shovels a handful of chips into his mouth. "Nobody?" he asks, beginning to sound a little pitiful. "Minho?"

Minho starts in surprise at the sound of his name. "Uh," he says. Chan's looking at him with a winning smile that's making him nervous, but it feels impolite not to agree to such a point-blank invitation. "Sure."

"Waaah," protests Yongbok in dismay as Minho pulls away from him. "Hyung!"

It's not clear which one he's yelling at, but Chan responds with, "I'll return him, promise!" and it placates Yongbok enough that he calms down enough to look for someone else to sit with. But without an anchoring weight at his side, with no sun to light up lies or buildings to duck into, the trees in the distance seem to bleed together into a singular dark mass. Minho gets up and tries to keep his mind carefully blank.

"Hold this," Chan says suddenly, startling Minho out of his fear for a moment. "It's a bit heavy, so be careful." 

The sword Chan places on his palms is a little heavier than he expects, but it's nothing he can't handle with both hands. "Okay," he says, feeling a bit silly holding up a sheathed sword two-thirds his height in length.

"Don't freak out," says Chan, which is something no one wants to hear, and puts his hands on the sword as well. "By the strength of the spirit that resides within," he recites, in a low, serious tone Minho's never heard him speak in. "I invoke the protection of balance upon this individual."

The sword's sitting snugly in its sheath, but a sliver of light still escapes from the gap in the metal, piercing the dusk. Minho gasps, just a little.

 _Pretty cool huh,_ says a cheery voice in his head.

"Oh gods what the fuck," yelps Minho and tries to shove the sword back to Chan.

"Hey dude," Chan says urgently, "could you introduce yourself first, next time?"

"What."

 _He's talking to me,_ says the voice. _Hello! I'm the zweihänder you're holding right now. Thanks for using Younghyun and Bang Chan's protective services._

"Who," Minho says flatly, feeling the beginnings of a headache coming on.

_It's not every day I get to talk to someone else, Bang Chan really scrimps out on the magic. Anyway, you're safe now from whatever it is you're afraid of. Demons? Ghosts? Angels?_

"Um."

_Hey, it could be anything, I don't discriminate. If you're on the run, you're safe with us._

"Alright, that's enough," mutters Chan, lifting the zweihänder with just one hand wrapped around the middle, then starts strapping it to his back. The voice of the sword—Younghyun?—cuts out abruptly like someone's pulled the plug on a phone call. "Walk with me, won't you?"

"Yeah, sure," Minho says.

The path up to the convenience stores is thankfully well-lit. Both to calm Minho's nerves, and also because his hands are now covered in the same faint, silvery light that had emanated from the sword and he's not in the mood to be stared at. Minho's not so fearful that he'd need genuinely magic solutions, preferring comfort of maybe the hand-holding kind, but this is fine, too. "Thanks," he says to Chan, maybe a little belatedly. "For noticing. I mean it."

"It's no trouble at all. I feel bad about it too," Chan says, smiling softly. "Seungmin was about to rip me a new one when I told him I invited you and your guys to Seoul Forest."

Minho's breath catches in his throat at the sudden mention of that name. "Huh," he responds, as noncommittally as possible.

Chan looks at him now, mild curiosity on his strong features. They're about the same height, but the sword on his back makes him feel larger somehow, makes his footsteps ring with more purpose. If you ignored the black jacket and jeans and boots, it'd be easy to peg this guy as one of the chosen. "I didn't know you were touched by the fair family. It's the kind of thing I make sure to find out, so I apologise if I've been difficult because of that."

"It's fine," Minho says, wondering if Seungmin had really been that angry. Annoyance had been common, but he'd only seen genuine anger near the end of their year together.

"Seungmin didn't yell at me or anything, he's too polite for that," adds Chan, like he's reading Minho's mind. "But Younghyun," he says, patting the sword on his back, "was rattling around like I was in danger."

"From Seungmin?" 

Chan shrugs. "Unless Yongbok was about to clock me over the head, I guess so. Okay, yup, Younghyun's confirming my statement right now. Apparently I wouldn't have died, but it was worth being worried about."

Maybe it's rude, but Minho laughs. "He wouldn't hurt you. Any of you."

"Oh?" It sounds like real surprise, which surprises Minho in turn. Seungmin trusts Chan with his secret, with planning his party down to the guest list, with inviting Lee Minho. 

He thinks about their brief exchange in the café, and he's certain of what he's saying. "I don't know how long he's known any of you, but he already considers you his."

Chan chuckles along with him, but it comes out a little bashful. "I don't know if you should be telling me that. He hasn't exactly made that opinion clear to us."

"Not my problem," Minho says with a shrug. "If he's going around telling people I'm scared of trees then I can say anything I want."

Chan laughs again, brighter this time, then looks at him with happily creased eyes. "It makes me glad to hear that. Seungmin takes care of his own, it's something we have in common." His gaze grows serious. "I need your help, Minho."

Something about their conversation has changed. "What do you mean," replies Minho, wary.

The paladin boy looks around for a moment, like he's collecting his thoughts or making sure no one is around to hear them. "You know what's going to happen on his birthday," Chan says in a low voice. "I need your help. Seungmin's plan isn't going to work."

Minho feels his heart stop. "What do you mean," he says again, feeling empty.

"We can't expect to find any true knowledge about the monarch of our fair friends. Not from human records." Chan's picking his words, careful not to invoke any names. Seungmin's taught him well. "He's worked hard and his list holds real power, especially along with his own, but I don't think it's going to work."

"Why are you telling me," Minho says, trying to keep his voice even, "and not him."

"He won't listen," explains Chan, frustration clear on his face. "He's either certain it'll work, or he's come to terms with returning… 'home'." 

_I never said I gave up. You did._ Was that a lie? No. Simply not saying so didn't mean Seungmin hadn't given up, either. All the old changeling stories he'd read and locked away in his memory for a year come rushing back into his head. Three days left. Only three days left.

It takes a while for Chan to realise Minho isn't going to speak, and he awkwardly continues, "It's why I need your help."

Minho shakes his head mutely.

The stoic expression on Chan's face shatters like glass. "I haven't even said what it is," he pleads. "Just listen. I have Younghyun, I can cut down anything that comes to get him. Yongbok doesn't seem like it, but he's strong, too. I just need extra hands, information, anything. I need your help."

"There's nothing I can do," Minho says, feeling hollow. "I'm just a human. You're better off asking Hyunjin or Changbin. Jisung if you're desperate, but I won't forgive you if anything happens to him."

"Everyone tells me you know what we're up against best," Chan hurries to say. "That if anyone knows how it's going to happen, it's you."

Minho holds up his hands. They glow faintly in the approaching lights of the row of stores. "How much longer does this last?"

"About an hour," Chan tells him, bemused.

He feels his face smile, even though he'd rather do anything else. "Everything I learned about _them,_ I confirmed through him. Ask him yourself." He dips his head formally. "Thanks for the food today. I'm leaving now."

Chan gapes at him. "But… your things…"

"I'll ask someone to hold on to them for me. I can't be here any longer. It's been fun, Chan," Minho says. "But I'm not going to be involved in this plan if that's all there is to it."

"Minho, please. We can't lose Seungmin." Chan's eyes are sincere, desperate. "Either of us."

Minho turns away from Chan and walks. Then, when the moving shadows of the trees become too much to bear, he runs. He follows the stream of people heading back to the station, running and running until he's surrounded by metal walls and fluorescent lights again, thighs burning from the strain. He's got his phone and his wallet and his subway pass so he's sure he'll get home fine, but the adrenaline in his veins still leaves him feeling lightheaded.

His phone vibrates in his pocket on the train home, quite a few minutes later than he'd expected. " _Hyung!"_ Jisung shouts into his ear. " _Are you okay!"_

"I'm fine," he says. "I wasn't feeling well, so I had to leave. Sorry."

" _Where are you?"_

"I'm on the subway. I'm fine, Jisung. I haven't been taken."

" _Is this actually Lee Minho? Tell me something only Lee Minho would know."_

"One room temperature iced Americano, please," says Minho immediately, because they've discussed this exact scenario before and _dude, you could make up whatever and I'd believe you, we need a passcode, man._

" _Okay. Okay. Damn. Way to freak a guy out, dude."_

"I told Chan to tell you guys."

" _And like, he tried, but Yongbok got super mad that you weren't coming back and I think we almost had an extinction event. You should've seen it. He's fine, guys,"_ Jisung says to someone else. " _Yeah, he's on the train. You want me to pass you your stuff?"_

"I have spare things so it's fine," Minho says. "Doesn't have to be tonight or tomorrow. You guys have a good time."

" _We'll try our best but it's seriously not the same without you. Hold on, someone's—ah wait—"_ Jisung's voice cuts off, and a too-loud " _Minho-hyung!"_ crackles through the speaker.

"Hello, Yongbok," says Minho.

" _Channie lied,"_ Yongbok reports over the phone. " _Channie-hyung lied so I kicked his butt."_

"Really?" He feels kind of bad for bringing Yongbok's wrath down on Chan, but it sounds pretty funny, whatever it entails. "Is he okay?"

" _Yes,"_ says Yongbok, serious. " _He will not do it again."_

"Excellent," Minho replies. "Good job."

" _I got praised!"_ Yongbok cheers, and there's the sound of the phone being taken away. _Hello, Minho?"_ says Chan's voice, this time.

"Hey." Now that he's far away from the park and it's towering trees, Minho feels a little bit abashed. Just a bit. "Sorry for freaking out on you."

" _I should be the one apologising. I could've really picked a better time or location, huh?"_

Minho laughs despite himself. "You really could've."

" _I hope you'll still think about it."_

In the cold air-conditioning of the train, Minho feels settled enough to say, "Look, I can't say for sure that your plan won't work. But I don't think it will."

Chan is silent for a while, on the other end. " _At least I'm trying,"_ he says.

"Touché," replies Minho. "Have a good night."

There's another audible round of jostling as someone else tries to get their hands on Jisung's phone. This time a voice says, " _Get home safe,"_ in an undertone, painful and familiar, and hangs up on him.

Minho pulls his phone away from his ear and stares at it. There are no secrets on his lockscreen, only his badly photographed cat and the time; 7:47 p.m., Saturday.

For the rest of the ride home he cradles his phone to his chest, and breathes.

"You're home," calls his mother from her room as he lets himself into the house.

"Yup," Minho replies.

"There's rice in the cooker. Eat it with the fish."

"I ate dinner outside," he reminds her. There's a little _thump-thump-thump-thump,_ and an orange and white blur darts through the hallway to twine between his legs and purr.

He hears a faint crinkle; _eomma_ is reading the evening papers, which means she'd gone out to meet her friends in the afternoon. She'll be in a good mood, then. "In case you're hungry later," she says.

He's actually a little hungry right now. He'd had, what, three slices of pizza, tops? "Thanks," he calls back, crouching down to wrap the slippery ball of fur in his arms. Soonie tries to greet him and seems surprised to be picked up, but doesn't protest as Minho puts his face in his fur. "Mmphh," he says.

"Mrrm," replies Soonie, and puts a paw on his forehead.

Minho sighs. "I hate him so much," he tells Soonie, lifting his paw between his fingers and giving it little squishes. "And you don't even care."

Soonie blinks at him with big, guileless eyes, then takes his paw back.

"That's because you're a dumb cat," Minho scolds. "He doesn't even remember your name half the time."

"What?" shouts his mom. "I can't hear you."

"I'm talking to Soonie," he yells back.

"Oh," she says, and goes back to her paper.

Soonie begins to tire of him, yowling a bit as he bats at Minho's head again. Minho takes his face back but continues to carry Soonie around the house, only putting him down to get his leftovers. By then his cat follows him around of his own accord, trailing after the smell of fish. "You're a little traitor," he tells Soonie, "so you don't get supper."

"Mrroow," says Soonie, forlorn.

"You're a little traitor," Minho says, offering Soonie a little bit of fish with his fingers. "You're a cute little traitor with big big eyes."

Soonie sniffs around Minho's hand, then backs away. Then he steps closer again and sniffs it again, and sits back on his haunches looking nonplussed. "Mow," he says.

Minho sniffs his own hand. It smells like fish, but he can't really detect anything else. "What's up?" he asks, waggling the fish bit at Soonie again.

The cat approaches again, warily, and gingerly takes the piece of fish. When he rubs his face against Minho's fingers and purrs for more, his hand flickers with bits of silver light, like a dying flame under his skin. Residual paladin magic, he guesses. If Soonie doesn't hate it, then it's probably fine.

"I fed Soonie already," says his mother, with a crinkle of newspaper. "Stop spoiling him."

"You heard that?" Minho puts one last piece of fish in Soonie's mouth, feeling little teeth scratch gently at his thumbnail. "No food for you."

"Prrrr," agrees Soonie, and stalks away with his tail swaying merrily in the air.

Soonie had been his long before he'd met Seungmin—not that he measured time that way, _Before Seungmin, After Seungmin,_ but they had learned to exist around each other over the span of their year. Which of Seungmin's things Soonie was allowed to curl up and sleep in. When Seungmin's lap would be free, and how to leap into it first before Minho could claim it. And through it all Seungmin had only ever called Soonie _cat_ or _yah._

Three days left, and all Minho can do is reminisce. Chan's right, of course. He could at least do something, aid the cause. But Minho knows that _y twlwyth teg_ deal only in promises and contracts, and if an unearthly wight didn't want to be found, then they never would. And if he'd helped Chan, shown them which doorways to charm and which paths to salt, then losing their friend would hurt them all twofold. Let them direct their ire to him, for refusing—to rail against an inevitability feels all the more hopeless. Minho knows the feeling well.

There are more productive endeavours, anyway.

Soonie's made himself comfortable atop one of his favourite cupboards and refuses to come down no matter how much Minho clicks his tongue, so Minho heads to his room, alone, and sits at his desk. He pulls out a misprinted sheet of paper from his work bag—not his studio one, which Jisung is probably lugging home right now—and flips it over onto the blank side. He grabs a pen, uncaps it.

 _Things to lose,_ he writes, then underlines it. Underneath he scribbles, _Mom and Dad. Harabeoji and halmeonie. Soonie._ Straightforward. He adds the names of his friends from school and it's looking familiar already. 

But this time, in this list, he has to write _Jisung Changbin Hyunjin,_ feeling the pen grow heavy in his hand. It still doesn't feel right, not until he writes everyone else's names _. Yongbok. Jeongin. Chan._ Printed clearly on his list of precious things, like promises made to himself. 

He'd never written Seungmin's name down on any of his lists. Maybe that had been the last straw, the day Seungmin had found the crumpled bit of notebook paper stashed between two textbooks. A list of precious things, and no mention of him. When it is your heart that screams at you, that cries too hard to speak, that walks out the door and doesn't come back, it's hard to tell him so.

But it hadn't been a misunderstanding. Kim Seungmin had seen right through Minho, just like he always did, and recognised every single one of his feelings. And then he'd put one foot in front of the other and walked out of Minho's life. 

It meant something, that he'd walked back in with a paladin, a celestial, and a fox… person, and it meant something that Minho had found a devil, a gorgon, and a human boy who promises to tear the earth apart to bring him home. A year ago, his list had meant loss. A practical way of visualising what he would have to do without, even if the weight of his existence against Seungmin's should've been equal. But now each name is an anchor, a potential trail of breadcrumbs leading him home.

Stuffed into a corner of his drawer is a crumpled café receipt for once iced Americano, water-stained and slightly ripped. He folds it up together with the paper into a neat rectangle, then another, then writes in large characters, _FIND ME._ Then he folds it again, and then once more before sealing it all up with a bit of tape. It will sit on his table, ready for Tuesday to come.

Minho wakes up to his mother knocking at his door and the reassuring and slightly alarming weight of a cat on his face.

"Ugh," he says in response and turns over in bed, ready to go back to sleep. This dislodges Soonie, who leaps off his bed with a disgruntled "mrrm" and stalks off in the direction of what Minho blearily recognises as the front door.

"Minho, wake up. You've got someone here to see you and they've got your bag. You didn't bring it home last night?"

"Ungh. 'S not a big deal," Minho grumbles, pulling a pillow over his head. "Tell 'em to leave it and get out."

His mother sighs deeply. "Don't think this one will leave, so you might as well get up and get it over with."

"Jisuuuung," Minho bellows, hoping it carries to the door. "I'll buy you coffee so just go away."

There is no response, save for the quiet scratching of Soonie's trimmed claws against the door.

"Minho-yah," his mother says, and it sounds like another sigh. "It's Seungmin."

On a bright sunny Sunday morning, two days before his twenty-first birthday, Kim Seungmin sits in Minho's kitchen eating his second breakfast of the day with Soonie on his lap. Minho knows it's his second—and apparently better—breakfast because he tells his mother as such, sitting straight and proper and holding his utensils in such a way that his forearms never even touch the table.

"How's junior year so far?" asks Minho's mother.

"I've come to enjoy it," Seungmin admits. "I find that a lot of the things I used to find boring or pointless have become precious to me, lately."

" _Eomma,_ stop talking to him." Minho points at Seungmin with his fork. "I don't like him, remember?" Seungmin continues to help himself to not-his-mother's soup, unbothered by Minho's statement.

"But _I_ like him," retorts his mother. "Fine! Do whatever you like," she adds after seeing the glare on Minho's face. "Can't even let an old lady say hello. Terrible."

"Terrible child," Seungmin echoes.

Minho grabs an apple off the counter and hurls it at him. Seungmin catches it before it can connect with his face, and places it gently on the table.

"No fighting in my kitchen," warns his mother, then leaves them to their devices. Soonie vacates Seungmin's lap as well, trotting quickly after her in search of his own breakfast. Minho sits alone with Kim Seungmin in his kitchen, eating breakfast together like nothing's amiss, like they didn't scramble to take down the iron charms all around the house just to let Seungmin in, like Soonie hadn't insisted on climbing into Seungmin's arms as he waited and sat there, purring like a little kitty motor engine.

"Family full of traitors," Minho mutters to himself. The corners of Seungmin's mouth quirk upwards, just a little. Today, he's wearing only an old T-shirt, joggers, and a baseball cap. He has his glasses on, the same thick black-rimmed plastic he'd worn all through freshman year, which probably means his eyesight hasn't gotten any worse, or he'd just had the lenses changed. Or maybe he doesn't even need them anymore. He looks at Minho through them now, his eyes warm, brown and human through the curved plastic.

"What is it," Seungmin says. A flash of gold accompanies his annoyance, and the illusion breaks.

Minho shakes his head. "Why," he asks.

"I live closer to you than Jisung does."

Technically a fact. " _Why,"_ Minho presses.

Seungmin sighs and puts his spoon down. It clinks lightly as it hits the bowl—the most sound Seungmin has made the whole time he'd been eating. "You always have to be so difficult," he says.

"I wouldn't have to be difficult if you'd just answer my questions."

"Sometimes there aren't right answers, Lee Minho," seethes Seungmin.

"I know there's one right in front of me," Minho snaps. "Why. Are. You. Here."

Seungmin folds his hands neatly, right over left. His fingertips pick at the cartoon-printed band-aid over his wrist. It's the only one still there even though it should've fallen off long ago; the other two regular band-aids are gone, the burns healed over as though they'd never been there. There are little grey adhesive stains on the skin around it. Minho tries not to think about it. 

Then Seungmin says, "Go on a date with me," so quietly he's not sure he's heard it at all, and Minho stops thinking altogether.

"What?" 

"Go on a date with me," repeats Seungmin, a little louder and a lot angrier. "I won't say it again."

Minho stares. He blinks, trying to clear his sleep-hazy vision, but Seungmin's still there in his stupid glasses and his baseball cap. "You sound like you want to tear my head off," Minho tells him.

"I do want to tear your head off."

"So?"

"So if you don't get changed to leave in the next half an hour I will tear your head off."

Minho squints at him. "And you're going out in that?"

Seungmin frowns back. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"

It looks good. Familiar, like an old blanket. Like waking up in the morning to someone else's bloated face, and thinking he'd look good in anything. 

"It's not like you ever take me anywhere fancy, anyway," Seungmin adds, snapping Minho out of it.

"We were broke students," he mutters darkly.

"Tick-tock, tick-tock," Seungmin says. He takes his dishes to the sink and starts washing them, like it's the most natural thing in the world. When he's done he steps out of the kitchen, and Minho can hear Soonie's delighted "mew!", followed by a tiny, breathy laugh.

Minho finishes his breakfast and goes to get changed.

Their first stop is a book café.

Seungmin eyes him when they get there. "What," Minho says. "You don't like it?"

"It's not a date if you're going to be bored the whole time," says Seungmin. Minho has no idea how he can just say that word so casually. Everything has him on edge; the great weather, the way they're walking side by side, the gentle bobbing of Seungmin's shoulders, just slightly above his. The universe is holding its breath, and Minho is anxious for it to be released, to see what breaks in the process.

"Are you listening?" Seungmin's annoyed already. It's a new record. (It isn't.) "I said, I don't want to go in if you're going to complain the whole time."

"I want to read," Minho says. "Am I not allowed to read?"

"Name a book."

Minho raises his eyebrows. "Any book?"

"Congratulations, you failed the test. We're going in," Seungmin announces, pushing past to let himself into the café, leaving him outside alone.

Minho stares at the merry OPEN! sign on the café door. A car honks, somewhere in the distance. "I just don't get it," he says aloud to no one in particular, then follows Seungmin in.

He almost bumps right into him as they enter, because he hasn't gotten very far—the café is packed, even in the late morning. "I forgot it was Sunday," Seungmin says, dismayed.

"Happens all the time," comments Minho dryly.

Seungmin glares. "Look for seats. I'm going to get us books."

"Us?" Minho asks, bewildered, but Seungmin's already darting off between the bookshelves. He makes awkward eye contact with the barista and slinks away to look for spaces amongst the groups of friends and couples scattered across the area. 

Two chairs at the end of a long table are freed just as Seungmin returns with a small pile of books, triumphant. "This one's yours," he says, sitting himself down before handing Minho a slim hardcover volume, wrapped in a cheerful yellow. The title reads, _Unexpected Sunshine!: The 3-Month Cat Mom,_ and there's a tasteful drawing of a big cat next to a tiny lady. Not bad. "Okay," Minho says. "And all the rest?"

"You can have another one when you actually finish your book," Seungmin tells him, then opens a beat-up little paperback anthology and disappears from the material plane.

Minho sighs and opens his assigned reading. He tries to sneak glances at Seungmin over the top—even behind the spectacles his eyes are pretty, focused intently on each word—but he finds himself getting sucked into his own book as well. Their drinks arrive and Minho doesn't even notice until Seungmin presses ice-cold glass against his wrist and makes him yelp.

For a while, Minho reads. It's a simple book with a simple premise, but the descriptions of the cats draw him in and he finds himself smiling and thinking of his own little one back home. He reads and reads, losing time until blunt fingernails scrabble gently over his knuckles, trying to get his attention.

When Minho puts his book down Seungmin immediately tangles their fingers together, tugging urgently at them. "Hurry," he says in a hushed, excited voice as he points to a newly vacated booth, and doesn't wait for Minho to speak before he's snatching up _all_ their books and making a beeline for the space. Minho gathers up their drinks and bags and follows, feeling a bit winded.

"I don't remember my place," he says once he catches up with Seungmin, who's already making himself comfortable on the cushioned floor of the far corner and stacking his books up beside him. 

"You'll find it again," Seungmin replies nonchalantly, handing him his book back. "Sit."

Minho sighs and sits. He's probably sighed more today than he has the whole week. "Are you hungry yet?"

"Just order whatever from here," says Seungmin distractedly, already reading again.

They spend a while in the booth, Minho ordering in some chicken and watching Seungmin nibble daintily at his share, hands wrapped carefully in plastic gloves. He goes back to reading without a word once they're done, so Minho settles in as well with his own book, his knees pulled up to his chest. Around an hour passes when an anecdote about cat litter is interrupted by a little tug on his sleeve. It's all the warning he gets before Seungmin sidles up next to him, leaning his full weight into his side with a sigh.

Minho freezes up.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Seungmin murmurs. The hand holding his book lies limp by his side and those bright, burning eyes are closed, looking for all the world as though he'd fallen asleep on Minho's shoulder while reading.

"You know that's not—I know that," Minho grits out between his teeth.

Seungmin's glasses are pushed up along his face as he turns his head into Minho's shoulder. "Then let me sleep," he says. The stink of fae glamour should be overbearing with him this close, but there's only the soft scent of shampoo and a hint of cologne. Minho can now see faint pimple scars on his cheek without the layer of faery-magic hiding them, but it's the dark circles under his eyes that surprise him, stark against his skin even behind the black plastic of his glasses. "I'm tired," Seungmin says, and his voice comes out weak and hoarse.

All at once, Minho understands. "You haven't been sleeping," he exhales.

Seungmin's eyelids flutter, just once. "Need to see everything," he says into Minho's shirt. "Don't know how much time I have left."

"You're stupid as hell."

"Could you stop nagging for just two minutes, old man," mutters Seungmin.

In the span of those two minutes, he's out like a light. Minho picks up his book and resigns himself to the fate of losing all feeling in his left arm. A few moments later his phone lights up with a text and he has to put down the book to get it, cursing under his breath.

 _long shot prolly but hav u seen seungmin, chans freaking tf out,_ say the texts he receives from Jisung. Minho laughs silently to himself and pulls up his selfie camera, snapping a quick photo of Seungmin on his shoulder and pulling it up on KKT to send. 

Something about Seungmin's face in the preview, vulnerable with his glasses and without his glamour, has Minho's thumb hesitating over the 'send' button. _he's with me lol,_ he texts back instead.

**han ᶘ ᵒᴥᵒᶅ jisung**

he's with me lol

wtf why

we bonding

✌️

wtf

o rite he said hed bring ur bag to u

which was weird bc u two didnt speak  
a word to each other ytd

yes

exactly. bonding

??????????

go tell chan to stop freaking out

o yea lol

**Bang Chan Starbucks**

is he ok?

yes he's fine

we're just hanging out

that's a relief. thanks for  
letting me know

thanks for looking out for him 

?

of course! we're friends!

**han ᶘ ᵒᴥᵒᶅ jisung**

wyd tho

just chilling

could u b more vague

yes

Seungmin shifts on his shoulder, trying to get comfortable on, admittedly, not a lot of space. After a while his head rolls right off and Minho has to drop his phone and grab him before he hurts himself. "Buh," he says blearily, without even opening his eyes.

"You're a real pain, you know that," grumbles Minho as he lays one of the café's musty cushions over his lap. Seungmin falls easily into it, throwing his arm across Minho's legs as he settles in. There are little red marks from where his glasses dig into the bridge of his nose, so Minho carefully removes them from his face, the way he's done a dozen times before.

"Why are you doing this to me, you selfish prick," Minho whispers. Seungmin doesn't stir. His chest gently rises and falls with each breath, human and fragile.

When they're politely and inevitably invited out about an hour later, Seungmin simply shoots upright, nearly colliding with Minho's jaw. "What time is it," he says, voice thick with sleep.

"Time to go," says Minho, helpfully.

He gives Minho a half-hearted shove, checks his phone with a grunt and starts stacking up his books without another word. Which is just fine with Minho. He doesn't want to talk about it either. He'll busy himself with clearing out their trash, and they can just never speak of this again.

His vow of silence lasts about a minute, when he sees Seungmin putting his books in the return pile and says, "What are you doing."

Seungmin stares at him. He's got his glasses back on and the dark circles have been wiped without a trace. Beautiful and fresh-faced, Seungmin replies, "I'm putting these in the return pile," like Minho's stupid.

"I can see that," Minho snaps. "I'm saying you don't want them."

"They seemed interesting enough." The books thump with finality on top of the rest of the pile. Seungmin tilts his chin upwards, like he's daring Minho to say otherwise. "I don't have the time to read them all."

"You do."

"I don't."

"You will."

"You're a nightmare to talk to," says Seungmin, and pushes past him to get to the exit.

"I'm buying these," Minho calls after him, loud enough that a few heads turn to stare.

Seungmin turns around, furious, his hands balled into fists at his side. "What for," he seethes, eyes flashing dangerously.

"I'm just buying these," insists Minho, gathering up the abandoned books in his hands.

"There's no way you're _just buying_ anything."

"Well, I'm _just buying_ these books that I want." There's the sharp scent of perfumed ozone in his nostrils, so Minho adds, "as keepsakes. To have."

Seungmin's barely keeping it together, his searing glare almost painful to look at under the brim of his baseball cap. "Do whatever you want," he finally says, leaving the café with only the soft jingling of the door-chimes behind him.

"Unearthly wights, am I right," Minho comments cheerfully to the dragonkin barista ringing up his order, who gives him an awkward little smile and a little paper bag for his books. 

When he steps outside, Seungmin's tapping his foot impatiently. It's mid-afternoon and the sun is out full force, lighting up his skin with an almost shimmering glow. "Where next?" he asks, giving the paper bag the evil eye.

"Chan's looking for you," Minho says, holding the bag behind him in case Seungmin decides to turn it into peanuts or something.

Seungmin's clearly still annoyed, but there's fresh amusement on his face as he says, "And he asked you?"

"He asked Jisung who asked me," corrects Minho, "but yeah."

"That makes so much sense," Seungmin says, fishing out his phone and tapping on it before showing Minho a string of texts to ' _channie hyung_ 🐺'. "He was all like, where are you young man, and then later it was like have a great day, smiley face, smiley face."

Minho skims the texts himself and grimaces. "Is he your dad?"

"More like our zookeeper." The phone goes back into Seungmin's pocket, and he adds, voice going back to its chilly tone, "Where are we going now?"

When they get off the bus and walk to the old mom-and-pop convenience store, it turns out to be a fancy little coffee place not unlike the book café they'd left barely half an hour ago. Seungmin gapes openly at the chalkboard menu, the sparkling glass panes, the entrance decorated with plants. "This is the worst date ever," he declares.

There's no way it's the worst date ever. He's definitely had worse; Minho knows, he was there. So Seungmin really _can_ lie, unless this really _is_ his worst date ever. "You didn't come here recently?" he settles on asking instead. It'd been close to campus and the ahjussi had known them by face, happy to make them the jjampong special even when it wasn't on the day's menu.

Seungmin glances at him for a moment out of the corner of his eye. "Haven't been since," he says quickly, then goes back to glaring at the shopfront like he'll make it go away through sheer willpower alone. Maybe he really can, now. A lot can happen in a year. 

Someone in the café stares suspiciously at them over their probably horribly overpriced latte, then flushes and turns away when they make eye contact with Minho. "I'm out of ideas," he tells Seungmin. "If you've got any suggestions, feel free to speak."

Seungmin stares for a little bit longer, then says, "We're going to find ahjussi."

"Sorry, what?"

"I said we're going to find the ahjussi who ran the store." Seungmin's eyes are deathly serious.

Minho isn't a strong enough man to turn down a fae creature's outright demand. "And how are we going to do that," he says.

"I'm going to do that," replies Seungmin. "You are going to follow me."

"Okay," says Minho.

He's completely serious, but Seungmin searches his face anyway, looking for traces of deception. "Okay," he echoes, once he's satisfied. "But wait here for now." Then he steps forward and taps open the sliding door leading into the café, heading inside without a backwards glance.

Minho knows that Kim Seungmin is good-looking. He doesn't consider himself a shallow person, but he'd be lying if it hadn't been that pretty eye-smile that had caught his attention two years ago. When Seungmin had come into his abilities six months later, he learned that he could apply that boyish charm like a lever to get his way, not that he ever found it in himself to do it to anyone but Minho. Which was stupid anyway because Minho would _wash the dishes today, please, bring me a coffee when you get back, buy the good ice cream when you go to the supermarket later, okay?_ whether or not Seungmin had been supernaturally pretty when he'd asked for it.

It makes it all the more peculiar to see someone else melt into flustered giggles under Seungmin’s gaze, like putty in his hands. He’s resplendent, of course; Minho can see his eyes glowing with greens and golds, swirling with energy only visible to Minho as he turns the full force of his smile upon his target. The feline boy manning the counter blushes under the attention, his tail flicking nervously back and forth. There’s no way for Minho to know what they’re saying, but he knows from experience that this boy was a goner the moment Seungmin had leaned fetchingly over the counter.

“Ahjussi lives around the area,” Seungmin tells him as the café door slides shut behind him. 

The cashier is still red-faced and wide-eyed as he stares at Seungmin’s back through the glass. Minho tries very hard not to notice. “That was very weird to watch,” he says.

Seungmin’s expression twitches with surprise for just a moment. “You watched the whole thing?”

“Yes? You told me to wait outside.”

“And you couldn’t just look at your phone like a normal person?”

Minho hasn’t really been capable of looking away from Seungmin for a while. “Is he going to remember that,” he asks quickly, changing the topic.

“Yes,” Seungmin states, clearly offended that Minho has even asked. “Obviously. I’m not a monster.”

“It’s always good to make sure,” Minho says, raising his hands defensively. “I have to know what to say if the police knock on my door.”

Seungmin snorts derisively. “Just tell them you’re friends with Bang Chan,” he says and starts heading down the street.

“Do you even know where you’re going,” says Minho as he jogs to catch up.

The lights in Seungmin’s eyes glow brighter for a moment as he turns this way and that, scanning the area. “To an extent. I haven’t met ahjussi in a while, so it’s not as accurate as it could be.”

“Is this how you found me too, that time in the subway?”

“Yeah,” replies Seungmin distractedly, his gaze passing over a street sign. “ _No,”_ he says with more feeling, his brows deeply furrowed as he turns to glare at Minho, like it’s _his_ fault he misspoke. “I wasn’t _looking_ for you, I’ve told you this already.”

“Okay,” Minho says, smiling pleasantly just because he knows it’ll make Seungmin madder.

“I hate your stupid _I’ve-already-won-so-I-don’t-have-to-say-anything-else_ face,” Seungmin mutters darkly, his footeps loud on the pavement even through his sneakers. “This is the worst date ever.”

This time Minho feels the words strike true in his chest, like little stabs of hurt. “We can just go home,” he finds himself saying.

Seungmin turns to look at him. His eyes have settled back into warm brown, but something in them flashes as he processes what's been said. “What do you mean,” he says, knowing full well what Minho means.

“If you’re having such a bad time we can just split up and go home,” Minho says again, feeling irritation creep up on him. “I don’t want to waste time.”

Seungmin is silent for a bit as they walk. "I want to see this through," he says after a while, and Minho knows there's something Seungmin isn't saying again, but that this is the closest he'll get to an apology for it. The familiar urge to quarrel further rises in his throat but he forces it down, both because they don't have the time and because Seungmin's put a hand on his arm, eyes wide and alert.

"What?" says Minho, trying to ignore the warmth through his jacket.

Seungmin shakes his head a little, like he's trying to clear it. "It just got a lot stronger. Ahjussi is nearby."

Minho frowns. "Is doing this hurting you?"

"No, it's just," begins Seungmin, then stops. "It wasn't this easy the last time I tried," he continues, slowly. 

"On me?" 

It's a joke, but Seungmin actually glares at him a little bit. "If you want to fish for compliments, fine," Seungmin says. "You're easy, you don't count. I can find you anywhere. The last time I tried to look for anyone else was late last year."

"How's that a compliment," complains Minho. So it'd been just under a year, after.

Seungmin's eyes flick upwards for a moment, like he's worried about being rude, then remembers who he's with and rolls them fully. "It's all you're going to get," he replies, shifting his hand to Minho's elbow to steer him towards a left turn. 

Down the row of squat little residential blocks, stretching upwards between two water-stained buildings, is an old birch with a trunk wider than both of them standing shoulder to shoulder. And coming up the road with a little recyclable shopping bag over his shoulder is the convenience store ahjussi, humming a little tune to himself.

"I can't believe you actually found him," mutters Minho, dipping his head to match Seungmin's polite little bow. At first the elderly dryad only squints at the two boys greeting him on a slow Sunday afternoon, scratching at the verdant growth at the back of his head, until his eyes widen with recognition and he starts hurrying down the street towards them.

"Hello, Uncle Kwon," Seungmin says to the ahjussi, ignoring Minho completely. "You remember us?"

Unlike the sprawling growth of his old tree, Uncle Kwon only comes up to about Minho's nose, but it doesn't stop him from reaching up to clasp their shoulders warmly. "Of course!" he replies, in a strong and clear but strangely whispery voice, like the rustling of leaves in the wind. "My favourite customers! Not the most loyal, but what can you do," he adds, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "What a coincidence to run into you two here!"

Seungmin falters for a moment, mumbling a few aborted syllables. "Yes, what a coincidence," Minho agrees cheerily on his behalf. "Isn't it, Seungmin?"

"Ahaha," says Seungmin, instead of responding. Interesting. "How have you been, Uncle Kwon?"

"Good, good," Uncle Kwon says, nodding. "Ah, you two must not know. I sold the shop. I'm in retirement now!"

Seungmin's hand tightens imperceptibly around Minho's arm. "No wonder you're glowing, uncle," he says, smiling brightly. "Retirement's treating you well!"

"You'd look good too, if you didn't have to worry about getting up in the morning to stock-check!" Uncle Kwon gives them both a once over, then nods sagely. "Yes, yes. You both look terrible. You," he says, wagging a finger at Minho's face, "especially."

Minho's grinning already. The uproarious shouting matches they would have were infamous; _is he a relative of yours,_ another customer had asked once, after Minho had let out a particularly scathing bout of nonsense, and Uncle Kwon had simply yelled _disowned!_ in lieu of answering. And Seungmin had been there, of course, laughing and laughing over his bowl of ramyun. "Your wayward nephew got a job," he tells Uncle Kwon.

Uncle Kwon's face lights up. "Good! That's good!" he exclaims, clapping Minho on the shoulder and even cuffing at his cheek. "No wonder you look terrible! And you, boy?"

"I'm still in junior year," laughs Seungmin. "I've still got time."

"Junior year, junior year," Uncle Kwon says to himself. "How old are you, again?"

"Twenty, going on twenty-one." It's said with barely a tremor, but Seungmin, still pressed close to Minho, pulls away from him for just a moment.

Upon hearing this, Uncle Kwon's face falls. "My boy," he says, voice going quiet. "I didn't know. Come here." He spreads his arms and tugs Seungmin into them, who goes willingly but bemusedly as he bends down to accommodate the shorter man.

"What's this about?" asks Seungmin warily, awkwardly patting Uncle Kwon's as he's squeezed.

"You too, come here." Uncle Kwon adds, nodding sternly at Minho. "There, there," he says when Minho obligingly wraps his arms around them both. Seungmin huffs quietly under his breath. "You're good boys. Good kids." Uncle Kwon releases them and pats them both warmly on the shoulders. "Come shopping with me for a bit."

"Hm?" says Seungmin, but Uncle Kwon's already off at some pace while Minho follows, shrugging at Seungmin as he hurries past. A little exasperated groan escapes Seungmin, but he doesn't protest further as he trails after them. "Two of them," Minho thinks he hears him mutter as he catches up.

There's a bit of a scuffle at the quaint grocer's down the street, as Minho and Uncle Kwon attempt to bodily shove each other out of the way to pay for Uncle Kwon's groceries. Seungmin wins by nature of simply walking right past their catfight to hand a fifty-thousand-won bill to the cashier. The look he shoots Minho lets him know _he'll_ be the one absorbing Seungmin's damage, which really just means Minho wins the whole thing.

Uncle Kwon gives them the expected light scolding, then merrily drags them out of the grocer's and back to one of the little apartment buildings beside the great birch tree. By the time the daylight begins to fade, they're seated at the old wooden dining table in Uncle Kwon's flat with matching bowls of jjampong in front of them.

Minho's hand hovers over the chopsticks on the table. "Uncle Kwon, I don't think I can…" 

"Nonsense," Uncle Kwon says with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Your Seungmin paid for it, anyway. Eat up, eat up."

"Kim Seungmin," Minho begins, about to petition for his support, but Kim Seungmin already has his chopsticks in hand, drawing noodles to his mouth like he can't do it fast enough. His head is bowed low over his bowl, but Minho only needs to see how his hands tremble to know he's crying. When he catches Uncle Kwon's eye again, he only smiles, and nods warmly at Minho's share. 

Minho eats. 

It is better than he remembers, but that's to be expected from a one-year memory gap. It's the memories that his mind focuses on as he eats: Minho finding the store, picking up Seungmin from class to try it out, turning it into their thing. Befriending Uncle Kwon and the other regulars. Lazy afternoons and quiet evenings spent in a cosy old store with no air-conditioning.

"Thank you for the food," Seungmin says when he's done. To the world his voice is even and his face composed, but Minho can see the turbulence swirling in his eye-lights. He won't meet Minho's gaze, but that's fine. Minho isn't sure what he wants to see on Seungmin's face, and he's afraid to find out what's written on his own.

"Was it good?" asks Uncle Kwon as he walks them to his door, like a host on a children's show.

"Yes," they answer in obedient unison.

The elderly dryad sighs solemnly and puts his hands on their shoulders again. "I'll miss cooking for you two," he says. "It's not the same, sometimes, not going out to open up shop, seeing everyone's faces. But," he continues, "I'll be able to move my tree back out to the country. Retire properly. See old, old friends. And you will find new jjampong to enjoy and other old men to bother."

"It's not the same," Seungmin interrupts surprisingly rudely, his voice stubborn.

Uncle Kwon just smiles, like the lack of respect has pleased him. "It shouldn't be!" he says. "No one should make jjampong the way I do. It's too oily and too salty, so I can sell more tea." Minho scoffs, and it makes him laugh, "But I will always be your Uncle Kwon," he finishes, "and memory runs deeper and more unshakeable than any root."

Seungmin throws himself into Uncle Kwon's arms again then, and the sound of a thousand rustling branches washes over them as Uncle Kwon laughs. "Say goodbye only when it's time to say goodbye," he says, but he's looking right at Minho with eyes older and wiser than any he's seen.

Minho understands. "I will," he replies, and Uncle Kwon nods, eyes twinkling.

"I didn't think it was that bad," Minho tells Seungmin as they walk back to the bus stop. Uncle Kwon had given them a strange string of text, claiming that the postal service would take any letters all the way up to the copse of trees in Gyeongsangbuk-do where he'd been born. Seungmin's still going through the words in his notepad app, making sure he's recorded it all correctly. "What," he says irritably without looking up.

"Our date today," says Minho. It's the first time he's said that word all day, and it sticks in his throat and drains the moisture from it. “I thought it was fine.”

Above them, the last bits of blue fade from the sky. The street lights have come on, throwing faint shadows over the pavements as shopfronts begin to turn off their own lights. It’s Sunday, so anyone with a job should be back home already, but there’s a faint, frenzied thrumming in Minho's chest and he knows he can't go home. Not just yet.

Seungmin meets his eye with a sidelong glance. "So you had fun?" he asks, and it's all snark and Minho can't be honest in any capacity.

"Fun is for the arcade," Minho chooses to scoff. "We just sat around and ate."

There is a pause; a holding of breath, waiting for the other to speak. Minho looks at Seungmin and knows they are both thinking the same thing, and that they will both leave it unspoken if only to keep the fragile peace held between them for just a little longer. They're not fighting right now, and some words hurt even when you don't mean for them to.

But Minho wants to say it. He wants to hear it in Seungmin's voice. _That's what we did all the time, two years ago. Remember?_

Seungmin's the one who turns away first, just as Minho knew he would. "Then it was boring for you," he tells the road. His hands rest calmly on his thighs, his face serene. "Thanks for humoring me today. It must've been hard."

"It happened," Minho blurts out. "That year. It happened to both of us."

Seungmin goes very, very still, and doesn't speak. It's a dangerous silence, the same way everything sounds muffled under the clouds of a stormfront. Minho has broken his geas and now the trickster-god sitting beside him, dressed in thick spectacles and beat-up sneakers, will render judgement.

"You were right, by the way," is what Seungmin's verdict turns out to be, just before the quiet becomes too much for Minho to bear. "I can't lie anymore."

Minho's suspected it, but hearing it so honestly is still a surprise. "The sky's not purple," he objects.

"Lee Minho-hyung, don't you know," Seungmin cajoles, a smug little smile on his face. "The sky is always every colour somewhere."

"That's stupid."

"It's a theoretical certainty." He looks so pleased with himself that it takes Minho a while to notice that it's the first time Seungmin's called him _hyung_ all day.

"Then? What else?" Minho demands, because he doesn't know what to do with that information. "You've said a lot of nonsense to me this past week, Kim Seungmin."

"You asked about today," says Seungmin, his gaze steady. "It's true, it's the worst one yet. But only because there won't be any more."

Minho’s throat closes up.

Seungmin sees this, of course, because Seungmin sees everything, but he continues talking as though he hasn’t. “I said that you were the one who’d given up and not me. It was true for a while.” He smiles to himself—at himself. “I think I’ve gone through all the books I dug up in the past year all over again in the past week.”

“Sleep, you idiot,” Minho manages to mutter.

For a moment there’s a flash of teeth in Seungmin’s smile. “It’s no use, though. No one’s ever gotten close enough to the Queen to know her true name.”

Minho knows what it’s like, to pore over old books for years and years and come up with nothing. “So you already knew,” he says.

“There was a non-zero chance of a record. Her exploits are many.” Seungmin pauses, then sighs. “Yeah. I already knew.”

“If that’s the case,” says Minho, feeling a familiar anger build inside him, “then—”

Perfumed ozone fills his lungs. Seungmin’s scooted all the way across the distance of the bus stop bench to clap a hand over Minho’s mouth, his leg pressed up against his. A startled “mmph?” escapes Minho, but he can’t say anything more.

“Enough,” says Seungmin, a furious tremor in his voice. “I’m so sick of your self-sacrificing nonsense.”

Minho blinks, frozen. He doesn’t know where to put his hands.

“You think making your deal is going to solve everything,” Seungmin snarls. “You think just one action from you is going to make everyone’s lives perfect and peachy. You think you’re so smart, that you’ve solved it all but I’m just too stubborn, I won’t listen. Get _over_ yourself.” The hand over Minho’s lips starts to shake. “Do you think l want to stay here when you’re stuck over there?”

Golds and greens flash and crackle in Seungmin’s eyes, barely contained. Minho, unable to speak, stares into them until Seungmin snatches his hand away, as though Minho's burnt him again. “I’m talking to you, bastard,” Seungmin snaps rudely.

“Yeah,” says Minho.

“Well?”

“I’ll never bring it up again,” says Minho, hoping Seungmin doesn’t find the list he’s folded and tucked away in his messenger bag.

Seungmin stares at him for a long moment. “Good,” he says, eventually, and turns away. They sit there for a bit, just a little too close together but not doing anything about it. “How long have you known those guys,” Seungmin asks.

Jisung, Changbin, Hyunjin. “Just under a year ago. You really know how to make an exit,” says Minho. The words come easily, painlessly, and Seungmin shifts in his seat but doesn’t move away. “Jisung came first and brought the rest with him. They put me back together.”

“Wish I could’ve seen that,” Seungmin says dryly. “Did they tell you that you deserved better, that your ex is a bastard, et cetera, et cetera, so on and so forth.”

“Oh, you’re right.” Minho rubs his chin thoughtfully. “They don’t know it’s you.”

A shocked, mischievous glee lights up Seungmin’s face. “Wait, really? You didn’t tell them?”

“No. Why would I?”

“That’s incredible.” He claps his hands together with delight, a far cry from how he’d been about to rip Minho to shreds just moments earlier. “Wow. That’s so fun. That’s going to be so fun.”

What Minho wouldn’t give to see how Seungmin’s mind works. “What’re you planning?”

“Nothing. I’m not going to do anything.” Seungmin’s grinning, his shoulder bumping repeatedly into Minho’s as he practically bounces in his seat. “You’re just going to make sure I’m there to watch when you tell them on Tuesday.”

“Why do I have to tell them? I’m not a party wrecker.”

“I’m not going to do it so you have to.”

“Okay, but hear me out,” says Minho. “What if… I just never told them.”

Seungmin’s listening. “Uh-huh.”

“And then they just found out themselves afterwards, and I can be all, oh no, I can’t believe you guys didn’t know, it was so obvious! And stuff.”

He gets slapped in the thigh for his trouble. “Then I won’t be there to see it, you idiot,” Seungmin says.

Minho sighs deeply. “You’re so troublesome, seriously. _Yah,”_ he scolds when Seungmin knocks his shoulder into his in retaliation.

Seungmin’s eyes disappear as he smiles at Minho’s expense, and it tugs annoyingly at something in Minho's chest. “Chan knows it’s you, I think,” Seungmin says. “When I’m gone, help me thank him for putting me back together, too.”

“Eat shit,” Minho says easily, and Seungmin falls comfortably against Minho’s shoulder as he laughs and laughs and laughs, and Minho feels each one like waves of warmth in his ribcage. 

“This was a mistake,” huffs Seungmin through the last of his giggling, rubbing a finger at the corner of his eye. “Gods.”

“What is,” Minho says, wary. 

“Asking you to take me out on a date was a mistake,” replies Seungmin solemnly, then looks at Minho to gauge his reaction. When Minho keeps his face blandly impassive, Seungmin continues with just the hint of a smile, “All of today was a mistake." He looks away, like he can't meet Minho's eye. "Now I really, really don’t want to go.”

“Ah,” Minho sighs. “You can’t just say anything you want, you know?”

Seungmin laughs again, even though it isn’t funny at all. Then he leans over, his hair brushing against the plastic piercing in Minho’s ear, and presses a kiss to Minho’s cheek. His lips are dry and soft. “Bye-bye,” he says into Minho’s ear as he pulls away and stands up, leaving Minho cold and empty. The ground under their feet rumbles, and there’s a gentle rushing of wind as a bus pulls up, the L.E.D. numbers jarringly bright against the dark streets. “Don’t be late on Tuesday,” Seungmin says with a little wave of his hand, and steps into the bus.

The hydraulics of the bus hiss as it makes its way down the road. Minho watches as it disappears around a bend, the rear lights searing little spots into his vision. When his legs stop feeling like they’ll give way and his heart stops hammering a mile a minute, he reaches into his messenger bag and pulls out a little cloth pouch, printed with kitty decals, and pours his armour into his hands. 

Out comes the plastic stick in his ear, replaced with a dangling piece of iron. His rings click satisfyingly against each other as he flexes his fingers and wills them to stop shaking. The iron-lined jacket is the last of his armour, and only once it’s safely around him does he feel ready to stand up and make the short walk to take the subway home. 

On the way there, he calls Bang Chan.

He picks up on the second ring. " _Minho?"_ he asks. Maybe it's the memory of paladin magic, but just hearing his voice over the phone makes Minho feel safer as he walks down the streets at night. " _Is it Seungmin? Did something happen?"_

"Seungmin's on his way home, so you can call him later to scold him or whatever," says Minho. "I'm calling to ask what I can do to help you guys beat the shit out of anything coming to take him."

" _Not that I'm complaining, because I'm not,"_ replies Chan, the smile on his face audible through the phone, " _but what changed your mind?"_

"You ask a lot of questions you already know the answers to," Minho tells him. "Just tell me what you need."

Over the course of Minho's commute back home, he learns of the location of the party, the entrances and exits and the furniture set-ups. "Look, we can charm the doorways and everything but there really isn't a lot I can consult on," says Minho, "when you've booked a warehouse in the middle of the industrial district to throw a party in."

" _Is that bad,"_ asks Chan uncertainly.

"I don't think you can find a less naturalistic location in Seoul," Minho deadpans. "If I had wings and pixie-dust I don't think I'd even be able to look at it."

" _Hm,"_ says Chan. " _So that's… good?"_

"The acoustics are going to be crazy, but yes. Good. How are we going to keep Seungmin inside?"

" _Hm?"_

"He's going to hate it," repeats Minho. "How are we going to keep him inside the whole time?"

There's an awkward pause on the other line.

Minho presses his lips together and pulls a face because Chan can't see him. "I'll think of ways to make it less awful," he says, "but you should make that phone call."

" _Good plan,"_ sighs Chan and hangs up, presumably to make Seungmin's surprise party less of a surprise.

When he lets himself into his house, Soonie runs up to greet him as per usual, but stops short to sniff curiously around his pant legs and poke about the closed door. "Mrr?" he says.

"Please don't," replies Minho. "Mom, I'm back."

His mother pokes her head around the hallway, a mug of decaf in hand because she wants to drink something warm but also be able to sleep at night. "How was it," she asks. 

"It was okay."

"You didn't walk him home?"

"What?" Minho objects, aghast. "He should be walking _me_ home."

"Why? You're his hyung."

Minho throws up his hands in exasperation. "I'm the one beset by unearthly wights all the time!"

His mother makes her way down the hall just to smack him on the arm for his outburst, then heads back outside like it never happened. "Go shower," she says without turning around, "Soonie thinks you stink."

"It's not me!" he yells, but his mom's already headed back out to the sofa. Soonie stares up at him with big eyes. "Kim Seungmin is ruining my life again," Minho tells his cat, who just flicks his ear at him and yawns.

Even after he's showered and changed and sitting in bed with Soonie on his lap, there's a jittery restlessness in his limbs that he hasn't felt in ages. An itch in his chest, like he's again that boy in the middle of the night, hearing a pretty stranger say _yes_. "Stupid," he mutters to himself, reaching for his phone. "Stupid, annoying, stupid."

There's no way it'll work, but he types out a string of numbers from memory and hits dial.

The call connects—the number must still be in use—and it rings, and rings. It goes on for long enough that most of the tension leaves Minho, who begins to resign himself to a missed call.

Click. " _Hello?"_ says the voice, tinny and crackling and unmistakable. " _Who's this?"_

Minho inhales sharply, then claps a hand over his mouth.

For a few heartbeats, there is silence on the other line. " _Hyung?"_ Seungmin says, hesitantly.

Minho hangs up.

A moment later, while he's staring wide-eyed at the wall, his phone lights up in his hand.

**Unknown Number**

i dont have caller id you fucking dolt

Minho reads and rereads the text, then laughs so much that Soonie shifts irritably in his lap and puts an affronted paw on his stomach. "We're stupid," he chokes out, rubbing the top of Soonie's head.

**Unknown Number**

who is this rude person?

i know its you lee minho

ok but how

;

It’s stupid to be this worked up over this, over anything, so Minho evicts Soonie and goes to turn off the lights. But then the light of his phone becomes the most visible thing in his room, and he finds himself staring at the string of texts instead of sleeping. His thumbs hover over the keyboard, unmoving. 

A fluffy tail flicks over his face, obscuring the screen for a moment as Soonie gets himself comfortable beside Minho's pillow. "Soonie-ah," Minho says, craning his head to look at his cat. "You want to say anything to him?"

Soonie's eyes flash at him in the darkness. "Mrr," he says, curling up tighter around himself.

"Good call," says Minho.

**Unknown Number**

soonie says u better be sleeping

you should be asleep the  
whole day tomorrow

last i checked your cat  
doesnt talk?

well you didnt do a good job

going out with my family tomorrow

theyre already mad im not  
spending the actual day with them

but they still let you do it?

i dont want them to see it happen  
so we compromised

tomorrow will be our last day

then sleep now

u are seriously so naggy

ill block your number

ok shoot the messenger

stay up then stupid

im sleeping

bye

ur a noisy sleeper

snore snore snore snore  
snore snore snore snore  
snore snore snore snore  
snore snore snore snore

hate it

_"Lee Minho-hyung," Seungmin hums quietly, into Minho's hair. "Hates cuddles but complains when he sleeps alone. Ow, asshole," he says in his regular tone when Minho knocks the top of his head into Seungmin's chin. In retaliation he hooks his arm around Minho's neck like he's putting him in a headlock, but it's so gentle that it tickles. "What if I bit my tongue? Huh?"_

_"Then maybe you'll finally stop talking," says Minho as he pretends to tug at Seungmin's forearm, then digs his elbow into Seungmin's ribs so he yells._

_"Hyung, stop it, come on," groans Seungmin, moving his arm to rest across Minho's chest instead. Minho can feel him press his cheek into his hair. "I'm tired. Go to sleep."_

_"But I'm not tired at all! It's really too bad."_

_Minho's head rises and falls with Seungmin's chest as he sighs. "What do you want from me?"_

_"I think I've forgotten the lines to that song again," Minho shamelessly fibs._

_"What song?" asks Seungmin, pretending he doesn't know that Minho is lying right through his teeth."_

_"The one you sang. The one at the tree. How does it go?" Minho taps out a rhythm on Seungmin's stomach. "Something something the grass and moon."_

_Seungmin sighs again, but he always, always obliges. The words begin deep in his chest, soft and halting, becoming clearer as he gains momentum. It is not a lullaby, but the yearning-song sounds like one when Seungmin sings to him like this. Comforting, magical. Safe. Minho presses closer into Seungmin's warmth, breathing deeply as the music surrounds him, and closes his eyes._

Minho wakes up to his alarm on Monday morning, his phone still in his hand. 

He checks it blearily; no new texts. Soonie isn't with him, most likely because he'd bolted out of the room at the first beep of the alarm. The radio is playing at full volume from the kitchen, where his mother is singing an old song joyously off-pitch. It's a Monday like any other one.

It doesn't sit right with him—to have a normal morning, to get up and go to work after the events of last night, before the events that will happen tomorrow.

"Lee Minho," his mother calls. "Don't complain to me about being late tonight, I don't want to hear it."

"I'm up, mom." He's got just the one text from a colleague, asking for a screenshot of an email Minho has saved on his phone. When he opens up his phone gallery to oblige, he stops breathing for a moment.

The last image saved on his phone is a slightly blurry selca of Kim Seungmin asleep on his shoulder, glasses crooked. He looks like any other human boy on the street. Today, he will have lunch and dinner with his parents and sister, just like any other almost-twenty-one year old.

"Minho?" says his father, knocking politely on the open bedroom door. "Oh, you're up? Come out and eat."

"Coming, dad," Minho replies, and starts one more Monday of his perfectly ordinary life.

**Grouped Chat**

**hyun E**  
did yall get weird texts from bang chan

or is it just me

 **bini**  
idk if its ok to talk abt…

its about… the… party…..???

 **han ᶘ ᵒᴥᵒᶅ jisung**  
thats what i got!!

but he told me to bring my brain

like i wasnt gna bring it or smth

 **bini**  
sometimes u don't though it's true

 **hyun E**  
its like hes expecting a fight

wtf would we be fighting

boredom

 **bini**  
idk how to fight :(

 **han ᶘ ᵒᴥᵒᶅ jisung**  
dude

literally just take out ur contacts

 **bini**  
no???????????????

that's so dangerous you're crazy

 **han ᶘ ᵒᴥᵒᶅ jisung**  
u asked!!!!!

 **hyun E**  
but whats hyung gonna do lol

 **bini**  
hahahaha

maybe he can summon a bunch  
of pixies to fight for us

 **han ᶘ ᵒᴥᵒᶅ jisung**  
not to be the serious one in the room

but hyung is the only one here who  
actually knows how to fight

 **hyun E**  
wtf real?

 **bini**  
omg wait hyunjin wasn't there but  
jisung rmb when he threw you

 **hyun E**  
he WHAT

 **han ᶘ ᵒᴥᵒᶅ jisung**  
LOLOLOLOL

that was like a year ago wtf

i tried 2 surprise him and he  
threw me over his shoulder

kinda hot tbh!

 **hyun E**  
am disgusted

by u

but i would like to see it.

oh~~~

hwang hyunjin wants to get hit!

 **hyun E**  
not what i said !

arent u at work

yes!

but i felt a disturbance in the force

 **han ᶘ ᵒᴥᵒᶅ jisung**  
hyung did u get a text from  
channie too

hmmmmm sort of

let's work hard tmr everyone~~

 **bini**  
???

i thought we were just gonna eat…

 **han ᶘ ᵒᴥᵒᶅ jisung**  
this is very channie though

like of course it couldnt just  
be a birthday party huh

 **hyun E**  
ummmmm what did i sign myself  
up for by joining u guys

 **han ᶘ ᵒᴥᵒᶅ jisung**  
sigh. u will find out

 **hyun E**  
ominous

yongbok

do it for yongbok

do it for yongbok

 **han ᶘ ᵒᴥᵒᶅ jisung**  
do it for yongbok!

 **bini**  
i look away for twenty seconds  
and we've started a cult

An eon passes before the clock finally, finally tells Minho it's six o'clock. Somehow he hasn't been called out by his superiors for being distractible and faraway, and can now slip outside into the safety of no-work-tomorrow. Whatever problems he's caused for himself today can be solved by the him who goes into work Wednesday.

Assuming he goes into work—no. He will. He has to. But it is still a solid plan B for a plan A that, for all his confidence when he'd spoken to Bang Chan the day before, he still doesn't believe will work. There's something he's forgetting or there'll be a precaution they'll miss, and maybe he won't come into work Wednesday. But.

Minho checks his phone for the sixtieth time that day and chews on his lip.

**Unknown Number**

ignore me if im bothering u

yep

ok gotcha

we're in the car what do u want

Okay. He'll go into work Wednesday, he promises himself, trailing his thumb over the tiny string of characters on the screen. He'll go in to work, and then he'll ask Jisung to help him turn over every stone on the planet to find Seungmin again.

idk im otw home

im bored

i'm having fun!

we ate all my fav food today :)

📎IMG_20200914_0947

😑😑😑

📎IMG_20200914_1312

📎IMG_20200914_1358

📎IMG_20200914_1521

i will report u for spam.

don't overeat tonight

eat more tomorrow

ok pot?

what

i'm a growing boy unlike you

blocked

blocked

blocked

my phone will really report you  
for spam it's not my fault

ok we're here bye

text u later

**BIRTH**

**Bang Chan Starbucks**  
say hi everyone!

 **Unknown Number**  
Hi erveryone !!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 **bini**  
hello

oh is this everyone?

 **han ᶘ ᵒᴥᵒᶅ jisung**  
whoaaaa i was wondering when u  
were gonna pull out the group chat

heyo heyo its han jisung

 **bini**  
changbin here!

 **Unknown Number**  
I am yongbok

 **hyun E**  
hey hi yongbok its hyunjin!!

 **Yongbok Starbucks**  
Huunjinnie

!!!!!

Hyunjinnie

 **Bang Chan Starbucks**  
jeongin come introduce yourself

jeongin?

jeonginnnnn

 **Unknown Number**  
Hi

 **Yongbok Starbucks**  
Jeongin!!!!!

 **Jeongin**  
Yongbok :)

 **han ᶘ ᵒᴥᵒᶅ jisung**  
yah yah wheres our minho hyung

hyungggggg

 **bini**  
hyung hyung hyung hyung

 **hyun E**  
hes in the read receipts lol

 **han ᶘ ᵒᴥᵒᶅ jisung**  
say something bad about him

 **hyun E**  
you do it wtf

he will kill me

 **han ᶘ ᵒᴥᵒᶅ jisung**  
he physically cant

 **hyun E**  
he will find a way.

 **han ᶘ ᵒᴥᵒᶅ jisung**  
just one tiny tiny bad thing

 **hyun E**  
fine

lee minho is a mean little man  
who is afraid of heights

hello!

😺

you are all cordially invited  
to watch me throw hwang  
hyunjin across a room

 **Yongbok Starbucks**  
Yay!!!!!!!!!!

 **Bang Chan Starbucks**  
he's joking, yongbok

 **Yongbok Starbucks**  
Okay

That is the one whmehre you  
are lying but it is to be funny

 **Bang Chan Starbucks**  
haha yes

 **han ᶘ ᵒᴥᵒᶅ jisung**  
wow hyunjin disappeared real quick

 **Unknown Number**  
this minho seems to joke a lot!

u have to be careful around  
him yongbok

 **Yongbok Starbucks**  
But I like minho hyung

:((

thats nice of u to say yongbok :)

 **Bang Chan Starbucks**  
heyyy it's the birthday boy!!

how's everything going?

 **Unknown Number**  
i'm having fun!

looking forward to seeing you guys  
tomorrow!! it means a lot

 **han ᶘ ᵒᴥᵒᶅ jisung**  
ur a cool dude were cool dudes

its gonna be a cool party

 **bini**  
what he said!

but less obnoxious

 **hyun E**  
free food we are coming!!

**Unknown Number**

it's late but my family's finally  
asleep so im heading out

at this hour?

i'm going to chan's so i don't  
have to be home

thats far

you can come over instead

if you want

there will only be one casualty  
bc my mom will only scold me

this is probably more for chan's  
peace of mind than anything else

but where would i even sleep lol

idk soonie takes up the whole bed

it's midnight happy birthday

oh

ure a year older

creak creak creak those are  
your bones

call me hyung then you can  
make fun of my bones

hyung these are your bones

crick crack crick crack crick crack

wtf 

whats wrong with u

hurry and run along to chan's  
so you can take ur afternoon nap

i'm old not your cat

what's his name

what's my cat's name

hurry

you already said it just now

it's soonie

you had to check didn't you

no bc i just read it

😾😾😾 lying is bad 😾😾😾

good thing i can't do it!!

wah im getting angry

i won't come tomorrow

👌

chan's here good night

don't stay up late talking

tell chan i said that

no don't tell chan ur texting me

i said don't tell him !!!!!

he says ok

you were right i should've just  
stayed quiet he's noisy now

you should listen to your elders

crick crack crick crack crick crack

see you tomorrow

i said i'm not coming !!!!!

👌

  
  


According to Chan's text in their newly-formed group chat, everyone with the time would be at the party venue early on to help set up. Which sounds reasonable, if not for the fact that he's also texted Minho separately to say that he'll be sitting vigil with Seungmin to make sure he doesn't get taken in the wee hours, and if Minho could maybe come take the birthday boy to the warehouse at eleven?

Minho wants to tell him to screw off. Instead he gets up early as he always does, and has breakfast with his parents. "Day off today," he reminds his mother, as his father leaves the house on his own.

She raises her eyebrows but only says, "What was the occasion again?"

"Mm," replies Minho. "Company holiday?"

"You can't just spend your leave days for no reason," scolds his mother.

"It's important," he insists. "Just this once."

His mother regards him with a sharp gaze. Once she's satisfied with how much Minho squirms, she says, "You are not telling me things again." She shakes her head, but doesn't seem upset. "You will tell me in time. Will you be home for dinner?"

"I don't know yet," he says truthfully.

She frowns, just a little. "Are you in danger?"

"I… also don't know yet. But I'll be with Changbin and Hyunjin and a few other friends, they'll take care of me," he hurries to add before his mother attempts to ground him at the age of twenty-three. "One of them is a paladin!"

His mother squints suspiciously at him. "Is Han Jisung not going to be there?"

Minho blinks. "He is. Why?"

"Then you can go," she says. "I will leave leftovers, so you'd better be back for supper." When Minho keeps staring blankly at her, she adds, "That boy would sooner learn to breathe fire than let anything happen to you. Also, he has my phone number."

Ah, the designated Mom Contact. "Gotcha. Thanks, mom."

She gives his ear a snippy little pinch as she heads past him. "I didn't raise you for all these years just so you can go running around into danger," she tells him, crossly. "So you better take care."

"Yes, mom," he says obediently. It's not a lie if he's not the one in danger! Possibly. Something soft and warm twines between his legs, meowing balefully, and he bends down to put his face close to Soonie's. "Bye," he says. "Take care of the house. Be nice to mom. Don't knock things over."

"Mew," protests Soonie.

"I know you've done a good job so far," Minho tells him, "but it's always good to be careful."

Soonie blinks slowly at Minho, then gently bumps his face against Minho's cheek, purring. A quiet, powerful joy fills Minho's chest, and he stays perfectly still, soaking up every last bit of Soonie's affection. His cat eventually grows tired and pads away into the apartment, but by then Minho's ready to do anything. He can do anything.

In the land of expensive high-rises and their big glass panes, Minho rings the doorbell of an apartment that looks like any other on the outside. The gentle music chimes, hollow through the walls, and the door eventually opens to the grinning, fatigued face of one Bang Chan, with one arm hooked around an openly annoyed boy who's still in pajamas. Kim Seungmin looks well-rested and murderous in comparison, even behind his thick glasses and without his glamour, but something in his face softens once he gets a look at who's at the door.

"Hey, Minho! You're early," greets Chan.

"Why do I have to come with you to open the damn door," Seungmin mutters darkly. "Your apartment's not that big."

Minho begs to differ, but says, "Neither of you look prepared to go anywhere."

"Get out and come back at eleven then," Seungmin replies, crossly.

"It's ten-fifty," Minho tells him.

"And?"

Minho raises an eyebrow. "Alright then."

"Okay, let's not fight," Chan says. "Let's all go inside and sit down."

"We were fighting?" asks Minho.

"I don't think we were," Seungmin adds.

Minho crosses his arms. "Have you been stressing Chan-hyung out? He seems on edge."

"I _told_ him not to bother me the whole night," grumbles Seungmin. "What about me? I should be the one on edge."

"The whole night? For _him?_ Aren't you tired, Chan-hyung?"

Chan looks at Minho, then at Seungmin, then at the ceiling. "I am now," he says to the air, then grabs them both by the arms to drag them into his apartment. It looks pretty much the same as the last time Minho had been, with its posters and prints and massive spread of pillows on the floor, but it's strangely empty now that it only contains the three of them. "Go get changed," Chan tells Seungmin, patting him on the shoulder. "I'll see you at the party."

"What're you going to be doing in the meantime," asks Minho, already making himself comfortable in the floor pile.

Chan yawns so widely that Minho can see every single one of his teeth. "I need a nap," he says. He blinks, with effort. "Badly."

"Good _night,_ hyung," Seungmin scolds, shoving Chan down the hall towards what he assumes is his room.

"Don't let him out of your sight, Minho!" Chan yells into the living room. "Always be on guard!"

"Okay," Minho says, bemused.

"I'm going to be _changing!"_ yells Seungmin, stuffing Chan into a door at the end of the hall and shutting it on him. Job done, he whirls around to glare at Minho. "Well?" he says.

Minho frowns. "Well, what?"

"Well, are you coming or what?" snaps Seungmin and marches into a different room. He leaves the door open, so Minho climbs out of his pile with a sigh and lets himself in.

It's clearly a spare room, with bare walls and spartan furniture, but the sheets are brightly patterned and there’s a warm note on the inside of the door, handwritten in marker. Minho takes a moment to skim it—it starts with a little doodle of what he can only assume is some sort of chimeric wyrm-creature, then goes on to list some house rules; no noise past eleven, no attaching anything permanent to the walls. The whole thing is signed off with a bunch of hearts instead of a name.

“I don’t know how many people he had staying over before us,” Seungmin tells Minho from where he sits on the bed, rifling through a small backpack. “Yongbok stays in the other room, and Jeongin crashes sometimes when his place gets too much for him. Note’s been there the whole time, though.”

“And you?” asks Minho, sitting on the simple folding chair beside the small work desk against the wall.

Seungmin pauses in the middle of pulling out non-pajama clothing to regard him. “Sometimes,” he says slowly, “ I can feel every steel beam in our building weighing down on me. Chan has this room warded, just in case.”

“I see,” says Minho. He wonders if Seungmin had felt that way, too, in the small apartment they’d shared during university.

“Stop looking at me like that," Seungmin suddenly says. "It only started happening after I left.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Minho quickly says, to hide his surprise.

“You were thinking it.” Seungmin cards his hands through his dyed brown hair, and sighs again. “You’re always thinking it, when you look at me. It’s not fae magic,” he says pointedly, interrupting the exact train of thought in Minho’s head. “I know you, okay? Your eyes unfocus and I know you’re thinking about pointless things again. Gods.”

“It’s eleven,” Minho says, because he doesn’t have a good comeback to that. “Hurry up and change already.”

Seungmin carelessly grabs something from his backpack and chucks it in Minho’s direction. Minho catches it easily; it’s a little travel pack of moisturiser. “Then turn around, asshole,” Seungmin snaps. 

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen,” complains Minho, and this time he only has time to raise an arm before the tube of toothpaste smacks him in the face. “Stop being a baby! If I look away and you’re gone, it’s my ass Chan will be frying.”

“Can I just have _two minutes,”_ Seungmin grits out.

“I’m going to be counting,” says Minho as he turns around in his chair, and doesn’t bother counting. He twiddles his thumbs. He scrolls through his phone (Changbin's having a morning class, while the other two don't seem to be conscious yet). He goes to check his work email, then thinks better of it and closes the app. "Seungmin-ah, are you done?" he calls without looking up.

No response.

Panic quickly rising in his throat, Minho whips around and smacks his face directly into the palm of Seungmin's outstretched arm.

"Hahaha," says Seungmin tonelessly, trying to keep a straight face. "Gotcha, peeping tom."

Minho slaps Seungmin's hand away and puts his own to his assaulted nose. "Kim Seungmin," he tries to shout, but it comes out like _gim soomigh_.

Kim Seungmin is unapologetic and detachedly amused. "Told you not to look," he says. He's changed into an old sweater with too-long sleeves and a simple pair of black jeans, and the thick frames are gone from his face. Without glass or glamour to keep them in check, his eyes blaze like twin verdant suns. "What?" he says, when Minho doesn't say something immediately.

"Your eyes," is what Minho says when he finally responds. Seungmin flinches and quickly turns away, marching out the door without another word. "You can't keep running out of sight," Minho half-yells after him, eyeing Chan's closed bedroom door as he follows Seungmin out. "I have to keep watching you." 

"Then keep up," is Seungmin's reply from somewhere in the kitchen. He emerges before Minho can enter, clutching a couple of large plastic bags. "Chan says to bring these over, first," he says, shoving one into Minho's chest.

Minho peers into the plastic bag in his arms, and it's all large containers of what should be food. "Will these keep?"

"Dunno." Seungmin hauls his own bag over his shoulder and grabs a set of keys off the counter. "He probably cast something on them."

"His sword… ghost… thing… says he doesn't use magic at all," comments Minho, following Seungmin to the door. Maybe someone will bring a cooler, or something.

With practiced motions, Seungmin locks up the apartment behind them and swings the keys into his pocket. "That sounds right," agrees Seungmin as they step into the fancy, shiny elevator. "Don't let Younghyun-hyung hear you call him that, though."

Minho shoots him a look. "You call the sword _hyung._ "

"Everyone calls the sword _hyung_ ," says Seungmin, eyeing him right back. "You will too, if you know what's good for you."

"It's a sword."

"And you're as stubborn as ever." Seungmin turns away, and the conversation is over.

They are quiet all the way down to the lobby, and they are quiet as they stand by the steps outside, waiting for the cab to arrive. Minho definitely recognises the sweater Seungmin's wearing. It's a semi-nice one, he remembers, something Seungmin can wake up in and wear to school if he'd pulled a late night before. His fingers look delicate, poking out of the long sleeves as he fiddles with his phone.

Two years ago, at the start of everything, Seungmin would've looked up and smiled, bashful. _Hyung,_ he'd have said in a soft voice. Today he steps abruptly away from Minho and says without ceremony, "Taxi's here."

"Okay," says Minho.

They stick the bags in the back. For just a moment, as he steps through the door into the back of the vehicle, Seungmin winces. Then it's gone, and he's frowning up at Minho for staring at him again.

"You are sure this is where you want to go?" asks the youngish spriggan in the driver's seat after Minho rattles off the address Chan gave them.

"Positive," Minho replies with a polite smile. He takes out his phone. _Can you be in here,_ he types into his notepad app, then offers it to Seungmin, who takes it with no small amount of suspicion. He skims the message, pauses, taps at the screen for a bit, and hands the phone back to Minho.

 _This is nothing,_ is Seungmin's reply. _It will be worse later._

Minho looks up at Seungmin. The changeling boy stares out the window as the buildings begin rushing past in a blur, but his eyes are focused like he’s trying to see every street sign, every shopfront, every face on the street. It is a fruitless task. Seoul is so much larger than anything they can see, seated in a moving taxi with too much space between them. It is fruitless but he does it anyway, because he is Kim Seungmin who loves the city, despite the scent of petrichor that clings to his skin no matter how hard he tries to scrub it off.

“Wow,” Seungmin says when they get there.

“I thought I was prepared when he said ‘warehouse’, but,” Minho starts to say, and can’t continue.

They stare, and stare. So did the taxi driver, when he’d driven two youths past the underground cafés and boutiques of Euljiro 3-ga and come to a stop in front of a old, old, concrete block with graffitied walls and peeling paint. "You guys are sure about this?" he'd asked them again. 

"Sure as hell going to kill somebody," Minho had said, cheerfully, and the spriggan at the wheel had taken it as his cue to peel away.

"Wow," Seungmin says again.

“Do you think,” begins Minho, slowly, “that this is a government-sanctioned-paladin thing, or a Bang Chan thing.”

The big metal shutter in the front clangs loudly as Seungmin kicks it soundly with his shoe. "Does this thing even have a door?"

Any foot traffic that might pass through Euljiro on a Tuesday afternoon doesn't seem to come anywhere near this area. There isn't a single soul around as they loop around to the back, where a single metal door appears to be the only entrance, unlatched and slightly ajar.

Seungmin's hand tightens, just briefly, on the plastic bag he's holding, but it's enough for Minho to step ahead of him and block his path to the door. "Hyung will go first," Minho chirps. "Hyung will make sure there are no scary things inside that will scare Seungminnie!"

"You're a real piece of work," Seungmin mutters, but doesn't press the matter. 

Cautiously, Minho pushes the door halfway open. Then he shoves it the rest of the way so Seungmin doesn't have to brush against metal when he enters. Light streams into the warehouse, but doesn't penetrate the darkness enough for him to see much of note. It's all just gray concrete floor.

"Okay," Minho calls over his shoulder. "I don't see anything but honestly it might just be my shitty fae truesight so—"

A deafening " _HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU,"_ echoes cacophonously through the space as the lights all slam on at once, temporarily blinding Minho.

"My eyes," Minho yells.

" _HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU,"_ shout what sounds like a dozen different voices in response. "Oh wait, that's not Seungmin," adds two of the voices. "Guys, it's not him."

"What the Hell, hyung," says someone who Minho knows is definitely Hyunjin, from the audibly Proper Noun intonation. 

"Seungmin's there! Wait, wait, both of you go back outside, we'll do it properly this time—"

Amid the chaos, someone slips a hand into Minho's. He grabs it on instinct, and it anchors him as his vision slowly clears. Someone else faraway argues, "But it's not Minho-hyung's birthday, why does he have to go back outside?"

"But we haven't practiced with him!"

"Seungminnie happy birthday!" calls Yongbok's voice desperately through the chaos.

When Minho's sight finally returns to him, the first thing he sees is a mess of brown hair and a blurred-out face—Seungmin's face, trying so, so hard not to smile. Even this far past the metal threshold of the door, there isn't a hint of discomfort in his expression. "I'll go," he says, struggling to keep his tone even. "I never came in here, I never saw anything."

It's only when he pulls away to head out the door again that Minho realises Seungmin had been the one holding his hand. "Come on, hyung," someone says, grabbing his other wrist. Jisung's the one grinning at him now, sunshine in his thunderclouds. "Come sing with us."

Minho is shepherded into the middle of everyone else. "Ooh," someone echoes when the lights all go out at once.

"Everybody ready?" asks someone who sounds suspiciously like Bang Chan, except that doesn't make any sense. Shouldn't he be back home, asleep? "Action!"

Seungmin, only a shadow in the light of the sun, slips into the warehouse, saying with exaggerated feeling, "Oh, wow. It's so dark! I'm scared. I hope nothing jumps out at me, especially not my friends singing a birthday song."

It's too good a cue to ignore, but it means everyone starts singing at completely different times and the lights only flicker on long after they've begun. But Seungmin claps along to no beat, blinking in the sudden fluorescent light, and he laughs and laughs. Someone throws an arm over Minho's shoulder and the whole group is flocking towards Seungmin, mobbing him on all sides. "Birth day!" yells Yongbok again, and almost elbows Minho in the face as he throws his arms around Seungmin.

"Happy birthday, September bro," Jisung says, trying for a sober pat on Seungmin's shoulder, but Jeongin smushes him up into Seungmin's side as he moves to shake the birthday boy by the shoulders. It's another big, weird group hug and Minho's just there, squished between everyone again, his chest a little too warm. But this time Seungmin catches his eye, still smiling, and long fingers thread through his for just a moment before pulling away.

"Alright, everybody move aside," says Chan's voice again, and indeed Bang Chan himself is there, holding a big cream cake aloft. "It's wish time! Hyunjin, if you please?"

With unnecessary pomp, Hyunjin conjures a tiny flame with the wag of a finger and lights each candle, one by one. Soon the cake is flickering merrily in Seungmin's hand, and everyone crowds around in anticipation.

Seungmin's eyes don't, _can't_ reflect the flames. Not to Minho. But something glows dimly in them for just a moment, just before he closes his eyes, and Minho knows what he's wishing for. 

_More fun times, just like this one. For forever and ever._

When Seungmin opens his eyes again, they burn with steady, determined gold. The candle flames gutter and extinguish as he blows them out, and everyone hoots and applauds. "I think you should cut the cake with the sword," suggests Jisung, earnestly.

Bang Chan pauses, a serious expression on his face. Everyone looks at him expectantly as he scrunches up his forehead and thinks long and hard about it. "I don't think that's a good idea," he finally concludes.

"Why!" Jisung cries.

" _I_ want to cut the cake with the sword," Seungmin speaks up. 

"Seconded," adds Changbin. "Thirded," he corrects, after a short pause.

"Fourthed, if I'm being honest," Chan admits. "But this isn't a Younghyun-hyung problem. It's a we-shouldn't-eat-thousand-year-old-rust kind of problem."

"Younghyun-hyung is okay with it?" Hyunjin asks, slightly awed. Minho has no idea when he'd become so chummy with a talking sword, but being Hyunjin's hyung isn't anything special anymore, clearly.

Chan sighs. "Yes, he's okay with it, which is usually sort of a big alarm bell for me." Being the only one anyone trusts with a knife, Chan alone carts the cake off to the food table to slice into eight and leaves Minho goggling at his back.

" _How is he here,"_ demands Minho, feeling a bit mad. "We _cabbed_ down here and he was still home?"

Jeongin shrugs. Hyunjin shakes his head. "He was already here when we got here," Jisung says as Changbin nods in assent. Yongbok grins from ear to ear.

"You," Minho says, pointing at the little celestial. "Spill."

Yongbok looks alarmed. "I didn't spill anything!" he hurries to say.

"It's fancy modern slang for 'tell me the truth'," Jeongin says, knowledgeably.

"Yes, that." Minho waggles his finger. "You were involved. What did you do?"

The alarm on Yongbok's face turns into wonder. "But how did you know?"

"I just do," says Minho.

"You were smiling really big," Seungmin cuts in. "It was really obvious." Minho slaps Seungmin in the arm. Seungmin glares back.

"I can go very fast," Yongbok explains, oblivious to the quarrel happening in front of him. "So I brought Channie-hyung here really fast too!"

"How does that work," asks Minho suspiciously.

"I just do it," says Yongbok, all innocent.

Jisung seems to accept this explanation. "Whoa, that's cool," he says, then starts to mutter incomprehensibly to himself about "vacuum of space" and "concentrated kinetic energy" and "of _course"._ Then Chan shouts, "CAKE'S READY!", and everyone scatters for cake.

It turns out that the bundles Chan had bid them take were full of brownies and cookies, which go to join the sizeable spread of food on the refreshments area. It's just a colourful tablecloth over a fold-out table, and the cheerful floral pattern sticks out like a sore thumb against the grimy walls and concrete floor of the little warehouse. But the centerpiece of the party setup has to be the projector aimed at the wall, displaying a laptop screen on the off-white paint. Computer speakers are balanced precariously atop the projector itself. Somehow Chan has managed to bring in an entire sofa, tattered and worn but clean and covered in familiar cushions. It sits atop a big picnic mat opposite the projection, waiting.

Chan hooks an arm through Seungmin's, leading him to the laptop sitting right on the floor. "Pick a movie," he says through a mouthful of cake.

"Hyunjinnie, Hyunjinnie, Hyunjinnie," Yongbok chants, holding the flustered devil's hands and swinging them about. "Let's watch the movie!"

"Let me get some food first," replies Hyunjin, though it sounds a bit like pleading.

"Okay!" Yongbok releases him and charges off on his own, leaping into the sofa while Chan yells in despair as the cushions go flying. "Hurry up, they're gonna make the movie happen!" calls Yongbok, contorting his body to pick up the cushions without getting off the sofa.

"Trouble in paradise?" Jisung snickers over his previously cake-filled and currently brownie-laden plate.

"Shut up," grumbles Hyunjin and shovels a bunch of tiny burgers onto his own plate. "Hate you guys."

"I didn't even say anything," Minho retorts.

Hyunjin suddenly turns on him with an accusatory finger. "That's right," he says. "You never say anything. Why'd you show up with Seungmin? Why was that your birthday party mission?"

"Uh," says Minho. He tries to catch Seungmin's eye without moving his head, but the changeling boy is fully occupied by what looks like Chan's Netflix account. _Help,_ he tries to telegraph with his non-existent telepathic abilities. Disappointingly, Seungmin doesn't so much as blink.

His shifty eye movement doesn't escape Hyunjin, who yells "Ah- _hah!_ I _knew_ something was up!"

"What's up," says Changbin, stumbling upon the conversation with two hands full of soda. "What's happening?"

"Minho-hyung was just about to tell us why he's here with Kim Seungmin," Hyunjin tells him, all smug.

Changbin turns to him with raised eyebrows. "Really?"

"Because Chan told me to," Minho says patiently.

"I call bull," Jisung states. Beside him, Jeongin nods in solemn agreement, cake cream on his mouth and cookie in hand. Minho doesn't know when he'd joined the audience, but sure, why not. Bring in the whole peanut gallery for his public accusation.

Hyunjin laughs triumphantly. "We're gonna squeeze the truth out of you, Lee Minho, just you wa—"

"Hyunjin!" says Yongbok, suddenly appearing and confiscating the plate of sliders from Hyunjin's hand. "Movie!"

"Oh, Yongbok, I—" Hyunjin's sentence cuts out with a scream as he's pulled over Yongbok's shoulders and lifted off the ground. "What in the blazes!" he shrieks as Yongbok stands up straight without any visible effort, still holding the plate in one hand, and marches them over to the sofa where he tosses Hyunjin into the cushions. The devil just lies there, frozen in shock, as Yongbok deposits his plate onto his chest and moves his long legs out of the way so he can sit.

Minho takes the opportunity to slink out of the conversation while everyone else is distracted. He gives Yongbok a thumbs up as he runs over to the sofa, and Yongbok returns it with a cheery smile. "Move, you," he orders, kicking Hyunjin in the foot.

Hyunjin is beet red and unresponsive, so Minho bodily shoves him upright and attempts to have him lean against a happily eating Yongbok. He comes alive for just long enough to stop this from happening, and slumps lifelessly across the upholstery instead. "I'll get you, Lee Minho," he croaks.

Minho gives him a too-bright smile.

"Lee Minho-hyung," he quickly corrects. "I will get you Lee Minho-hyung."

Behind them, the speakers play an unmistakable two-note intro as the Netflix logo pops up on the projection. "Lee Minho-hyung," Seungmin singsongs as he plops into the space beside him and bumping his knee into his. "Looks pretty but bullies his dongsaengs."

"So you think I look pretty," Minho points out.

"Some things are simply fact," Seungmin smoothly responds, without missing a beat. "Ask anyone here."

"Okay, but _you_ think I'm pretty."

"Do we _think_ the sky is blue?"

"No," says Minho. " _You_ think it's purple."

Seungmin huffs. "You're impossible, as usual," he says, then sinks contentedly into the beat-up upholstery.

Hyunjin's sitting up now, his back ramrod straight as he stares at them with his mouth ajar. "What just happened," he says. "I know something just happened. What just happened?"

"Conversation," Yongbok pipes up, helpfully. Minho gives him another thumbs up which he again returns, this time with a proud little smile on his face.

Hyunjin doesn't get to pry any further because Chan plops himself down on the picnic mat by their feet and exclaims, "Movie night!"

"It's, like, two in the afternoon," Jisung says, sprawling out next to him so horizontally that his feet leave the picnic mat and end up on the concrete floor.

"Movie night!" Chan repeats with fork in hand, unperturbed.

Minho feels the cushions move, and looks up in time to see Jeongin swing his leg over the back of the sofa. "Dude," Seungmin complains as Jeongin kicks him in the shoulder with one socked foot as he makes his way over and into the cushions. "Just walk around."

"I will not," says Jeongin, squeezing into the tiny amount of space between Seungmin and the arm of the sofa. His knees are pulled up close to his chest and his legs dangle off the side. "This is most comfortable," he declares.

Minho sighs quietly as Seungmin's shoulder jabs into his arm and shifts so he's leaning on it, instead.

"This is a crowd," observes Changbin, his sodas nowhere to be seen as he balances a plate in each hand.

"Come sit," Chan says, holding his sword in his lap like it's a plush toy. He repeatedly pats the empty space next to him until Changbin hesitantly tries to sit on it, at which point he snatches his hand away. To Seungmin's consternation, Jeongin leans back over Seungmin's thighs and lets his arm drape over Changbin's shoulder. Changbin only shifts to let it rest more comfortably. One of his hair-snakes sniffs curiously at Jeongin's elbow, then deems it harmless and goes back to sleep.

It's warm, sitting between a literal devil and Kim Seungmin. Minho attempts to relax, but each time he tries it feels like he's melting into Seungmin, and he feels himself go rigid again. The main character on the screen is meeting his love interest in a quaint deli. When Seungmin's hand drifts over his, twining their fingers together, he exhales long and slow, and finally lets his weight rest on Seungmin's shoulder.

Beside them, Yongbok has climbed into Hyunjin's lap the same way he'd tried to do to Minho, except more successful this time since Hyunjin has a higher weight tolerance than Minho's sad, human bones. Hyunjin seems to have finally learned how to be calm in Yongbok's presence and has his arms resting around Yongbok's waist, not quite holding him. His chin is hooked comfortably on Yongbok's shoulder. The protagonist and his love interest are driving, driving. Chan tries to lean against Seungmin's knee, just like how Jisung's using Minho's calves as a headrest, but Seungmin just knees him in the back of the head.

It feels comfortable, feels _right,_ like in one of Chan's strange, rambling musings. So when something in the air shifts off-balance, he doesn't quite believe it's happening—all their plans have gone off without a hitch. The warehouse is charmed and warded. Seungmin remains in the heart of Seoul surrounded by his friends, still by Minho's side, but the familiar scent of perfumed ozone around him grows deeper and twists into itself, becoming something else entirely: rotting flowers and ash.

Seungmin only blinks when Minho suddenly turns to look at him. Their faces are too close together, so he leans back a little and says, "What is it now."

"How do you feel," Minho asks, as quietly and calmly as he can.

The frown on Seungmin's face grows deeper. "How do I— _ah,"_ breathes Seungmin. All the irritation slips from his face until only a faint panic remains, and when even that is gone too, Seungmin sighs, so quiet that only Minho can hear. The sound is filled with resignation and grief.

"Chan-hyung," Minho says, loud and sharp.

Immediately Bang Chan is on his feet and leaping away from everyone else, hand reaching back for his sword. In one fluid motion it is unsheathed, and for the first time Minho sees the pure black metal of its blade, so dark that it seems to absorb the light of the fluorescent lamps. The paladin is careful not to accidentally slice anyone up as he does a visual sweep of the warehouse. "I don't see or sense anything, Minho," he says. "What's happening?"

The strange dread that had crept into his bones since the day began finally solidifies into understanding. "They're not coming," Minho says, and as the words leave his mouth he knows they're true. "They're going to just leave him here to wither."

"What's going on," demands Changbin, getting to his feet. "Chan-hyung?"

Hyunjin shifts Yongbok easily off his lap and stands, placing himself protectively in front of the celestial. When he is standing at his full height, eyes aflame, Hwang Hyunjin is every bit the dangerous creature he claims not to be. "Is this the fight?" he asks.

"Is it happening, Channie-hyung?" asks Yongbok, who appears to have been filled in enough to anticipate _something_ yet not enough to be at all alarmed, but perhaps celestials simply don't alarm easily. "Is it Seungminnie?"

The tip of the zweihänder starts to wobble; Chan's hands are shaking. He's still holding it aloft but all the fight seems to have gone out of him. "If Minho's saying it, then it must be true," he says with a faraway look in his eye, and Minho realises he's speaking to a voice only he can hear. "Most changeling children waste away before they ever reach adulthood, so I thought… I thought he’d be fine. I thought he needed to be taken, not... not this. I didn’t know, hyung," he says, quiet and desperate, almost a plea. “I don’t know what to do.”

Faint pinpricks on the back of Minho's hand draw his attention; Seungmin's fingernails are digging into his skin, just enough to sting but shallow enough that the crescent-shaped marks won't last for long. "Hyung," he murmurs. With his shoddy truesight, Minho sees double: Kim Seungmin, a human boy with warm dark eyes and a sweet, youthful face, and Kim Seungmin, with swirling vortexes of power where his eyes should be. No longer contained within his irises, the light seems to seep through his body and light up his skin from underneath.

The double-image flickers for a moment, and Minho hears Chan's caught breath, followed by Jisung's shout of alarm. "Seungmin," he gasps, horrified. "What's happening to you?"

"Seungminnie," Yongbok says, fresh worry on his face. "What's happening, Seungmin? I don't like it. I don't like this."

The vice grip on Minho's hand grows tighter, and Minho instinctively puts another hand around Seungmin's fingers, feeling the way they dwarf his own. "Hyung, I can feel it," he says, the beginnings of strain in his voice. "Every steel beam in this place."

Changbin has his left hand on his right wrist, his thumb pressed over where his pulse would be. "Chan," he says, keeping his voice calm. "Lend me your sword."

"There's no need for that," Jeongin speaks up. He's perched at the edge of the sofa, observing Seungmin carefully at a distance. "He's not dying."

Changbin doesn't question Jeongin's judgement, only demanding, "Then what's happening?"

Jeongin sniffs the air in an elegant, if canine, manner. "Metamorphosis," he says.

Seungmin suddenly lurches forward into Minho's shoulder, pressing close, trapping their hands between them. Minho can feel the erratic thrum of Seungmin's heartbeat—or maybe it's his own. "It hurts," Seungmin chokes out, in a sound that's more music than voice.

Something wrenches painfully in Minho's chest and he throws his other arm around Seungmin, trying to cover him with his body even though he knows it won't do anything. "Chan!" Minho shouts, away from Seungmin's ear. "Take down the wards."

Chan startles for a moment. "Which ones?"

"All of them." Minho pulls away from Seungmin, who lets out a wordless cry until Minho hoists him up onto his back and hooks his legs around his waist. "Hold on," he says, and stands only when Seungmin's arms tighten around his neck. "Take down all the wards, I'm taking him outside and I don't want him to pass through one."

For a moment it seems as though Chan might argue, but then he takes one look at Seungmin's expression and gives Minho a tight nod. He raises his zweihänder once more, and recites, "By the strength of the spirit that resides within, I recall all bulwarks from this place."

Minho's already sprinting towards the door in the back. He can feel the exact moment the wards come down—Seungmin gasps and chokes, and then _bites_ Minho where his shoulder meets his neck. It's accompanied by the hot breath of a muffled scream. Gritting his teeth, he puts on a burst of speed and kicks the door open, and then they're covered in sunlight.

The late afternoon casts everything in a golden hue. The streets are still empty as Minho staggers out of the warehouse, and then they’re both crumpling to the curb in a heap.

Seungmin unhooks his teeth from Minho's shoulder and sucks in a pained, shuddering breath. "Sorry," whispers the music that falls from his mouth and brushes past Minho's ear, somehow hoarse despite his lack of a real voice. "It's not bleeding."

"Thanks," Minho replies tonelessly. "Real helpful."

It almost hurts to look at Seungmin now. Rich gold light spills out of his skin, streaked through with greens so bright they're almost white, and every part of him flickers restlessly, like multiple videos overlayed across each other. He laughs with the sound of windchimes and says, sings, "I had fun today, hyung."

"There will be more fun days," Minho tells him, thinking of Seungmin's wish.

What's left of Seungmin's eyes widens a little at the stupid, baseless confidence he’s spoken with, and he laughs again. "Listen,” he says. Minho feels him take his hand and assumes it’s just to hold, but then something thin and fragile is pushed into his palm. Seungmin folds Minho’s fingers over a piece of notebook paper and continues, “Hyung, listen. I’m entrusting this to you.”

“You bastard,” Minho says.

“It won’t control her, but she can be called,” Seungmin carries on, unbothered. “Take this. Come find me.”

Minho knows he’s crushing the note, but he clutches at Seungmin’s hands before they can pull away. There’s a folded up plea of his own tucked away in the pocket of his jeans; the combined weight of both roots him to the ground and sends his mind spinning. “You’re a bastard for doing this to me,” he repeats.

“I know,” says Seungmin. “And I’m not sorry. This is better than your stupid plan, anyway.” He is about as corporeal as spiderweb, but Minho feels his eye-smile on him with as much clarity as if he’d seen it with his own eyes. “Close your eyes.”

"No," says Minho, stubbornly.

"Close your eyes," Seungmin insists, lifting his hands to Minho's face and trailing a gentle path down Minho's eyelids with his fingertips.

Minho closes his eyes.

Something gossamer-soft brushes the corner of lips. "See you later," says Seungmin, a smile in his music-voice.

The scent of rotting flowers and ash slowly begins to fade. Minho can't bring himself to open his eyes, even as cold fingers leave his face and he desperately grasps for them, encountering nothing but air. He sits in the darkness until the air in his lungs smells only of passing traffic and old paint.

“Seungminnie’s gone?”

Yongbok’s confused, shaken expression is the first thing he sees when he looks back up. No answer comes to Minho, so he remains silent, trying to get his bearings.

There should have been a blinding flash, something bright enough to sear—it only feels right, with how much Seungmin had seemed fit to explode. Instead it is as though someone has cut out a section of tape from a film reel: Kim Seungmin is simply no longer there, despite having _been_ just before. On the curb where he’d sat are a few scattered dead leaves and branches, rain-soaked and damp despite the sunlight. There are no trees around. Minho tries to pick up a rotted little twig, but it disintegrates into wet ash between his finger and thumb.

"Hyung," says Jisung's voice. He's standing beside him, looking worried; they all are. Minho doesn’t know when they’d all gathered beside him or how long they’d been there, but he allows Chan to lift him to his feet, allows Jisung to hover protectively beside him. “Seungmin is gone?” repeats Yongbok.

Chan opens his mouth to fill Yongbok in like he always does, but nothing comes out. He nods instead, just once.

“He’s somewhere else,” Minho corrects, finally feeling enough like himself to speak. “But he’s not here.”

“There was no decree,” says Chan, half to himself. He’s returned his sword to its back harness, but his hands twitch like he wishes he were still holding it. “No emissary. They just… let him end, just like that.”

“I'm tired of riddles.” Changbin’s angry and doesn’t bother to hide it. “What haven’t you two told us?”

Minho looks at Chan, unwilling to speak. “Seungmin’s fae,” Chan explains, carefully. “A changeling. He didn’t want anyone else to know.” At this, all three of Minho’s boys turn to him—even Changbin's anger recedes—but have the good sense to remain silent.

"I don't understand what's happening," Yongbok says, quiet in a way that Minho's never seen. "But will he come back?"

"No," Minho says.

For a moment Yongbok searches his face. Something borne of their galaxy flares brightly in his eyes as he asks, "Will you bring him back?"

Minho blinks. The note in his hand is only paper, but it thrums under his fingertips, almost warm. "Yes," he replies. 

Something in the air changes. The stricken expression on Chan's face turns into one of focused efficiency, and he says immediately, "I'll come with you."

"Me too, hyung," Hyunjin says. He snaps his fingers the same way someone might play with a Zippo lighter, conjuring and extinguishing flame.

"Let's not start any forest fires," Minho says, "but sure." Changbin quickly interrupts Hyunjin's fidgeting by simply grabbing his hand, and Hyunjin glares but doesn't object.

"Forest?" Jeongin's ears seem to perk up. "Take me with you."

"It might not be a forest any of us are familiar with," Minho warns.

"I have read the lay of the land for a thousand long years," Jeongin says. He blinks and the skin around his eyes seems to darken, his sclera disappearing and leaving only wide amber irises and pupils narrowed into slits. Then Minho blinks, and Jeongin's face has always been that of a human boy. "No amount of magic in a forest will trap you," says Jeongin with an unshakeable certainty. "Not with me as a guide."

"Okay," says Minho. "Then yes. Please come with us."

"Yay," Jeongin cheers.

"One thousand years?" Jisung mutters to himself.

"Jisung," Minho says.

"Yeah, hyung?"

"I don't know what's going to happen," he tells the closest thing he has to a best friend, as bluntly as he can. "So I don't want you coming with us."

He'd expected some anger and some protesting, but Jisung only sighs and shakes his head. "I said I'd follow you everywhere, hyung. Don't make me a liar."

"I can just ditch you right now. You won't know where to go."

"I know that Seoul Forest is only a twenty-five minute train ride from here," Jisung says, smug. "I'll find you guys soon enough."

"One," says Yongbok holding up a finger.

"One?"

"One minute." Yongbok thinks about it, then nods. "I can go to Seoul Forest in one minute."

Minho takes Yongbok by the shoulders, forcing himself not to grip too tightly. "Right now," he says. "Take me to Seoul Forest right now."

"Wait! Everybody wait," Chan calls, before Yongbok can do anything. He shrugs off his sword harness and holds it up in front of him. "Everyone huddle up here." After everyone's obediently gathered around and placed a hand on the sheath, he says, "By the strength of the spirit within. Um. Make sure they... get places in one piece."

 _You're gonna have to be more specific,_ says Younghyun's voice in Minho's head. It seems to be audible to everyone else as well, because Hyunjin yelps and Jisung's eyes get very big.

Chan mutters something that sounds like a curse. "Okay, uh," he tries again at a proper volume. "By the strength of the spirit within make sure no one breaks their bones or any other part of their body when traveling really fast."

 _Good enough for me!_ is Younghyun's cheery response, and the strange silvery light from before flows from the sword and up everyone's arms, settling across their shoulders like dusted snow. _Wow, gang's not all here, but this sure is a crowd! We should do this more often. Being the centre of attention is such a rush._

" _What_ is happening," Jisung says to himself.

_Ah, Han Jisung! I've heard a lot about you, Han Jisung._

"Okay," says Jisung. "I really, really, really want to ask why, but I can read a room—read a sidewalk?—and this really isn't the right time, sword-voice." Jisung takes a breath. "But I _really really_ want to know."

_Come back from your quest and I'll spill some about your Channie-hyung._

"Why does this happen every time," Chan groans. "Okay, everybody take your hands off the chatty sword, please."

"Are we going?" Yongbok asks, darting quickly away from the sword. He squats down a little and stretches his arms out behind him. "Chan-hyung said 'all aboard' last time, so all aboard!"

"You're just going to carry us there?" asks Jisung, aghast. 

"Yes," says Yongbok.

"I'll go first," Chan says, raising his hands in a peaceful gesture. "So you all know it's safe."

"You had to put wards on us so we wouldn't break all our bones," Changbin points out.

"All aboard," says Chan, hopping on Yongbok's back. There's the sound of Yongbok's laugh, and then the two of them are gone. Moments later, something like a thunderclap rings out and Minho jumps out of his skin.

"Sonic boom," Jisung says knowingly, as though he didn't also leap three feet in the air.

"A noise warning next time would be nice," Minho mutters. "I'm going to get my things."

"You mean these?" says Jisung, holding up a little cat-print pouch and waggling it about to get Minho's attention. "I've got your armour right here." He pulls out one of Minho's rings from it and sticks it in front of Minho's nose. "Will you marry me, hyung?" he asks with all the drama of a soap opera star.

Minho snatches it out of his hand. "Next time you do a proposal, make sure you get something more interesting than iron," he says as he slips the ring onto his index finger and holds out his hand for the rest.

"What does it mean if someone accepts the ring but wears it on the wrong finger," Jisung muses as he plops the pouch in Minho's hand.

"It means I refuse to be the one who breaks your single's curse." In goes the earring along with the rest of his rings, and he stretches his fingers to feel their reassuring weight. He hasn't brought the jacket out today, but already his hands shake a little less. He looks Jisung seriously in the eye. "Thank you. I mean it."

"Jesus, hyung. It's not a big deal." Jisung frowns. "You're acting like something is gonna happen. It's going to be fine."

"Han Jisung can you _please_ not say that name around me where I can hear _please,"_ calls Hyunjin, covering his ears and cringing.

Jisung takes the bait immediately. "Good ole J.C.," he says, as he prowls towards Hyunjin. "The G-man, Mr. Big Guy In The Sky."

"Nooo," Hyunjin yowls, just as a thunderclap sounds again. He screams. A moment later Yongbok is next to him, alone and smiling.

"Hello," Yongbok says cheerily. "Who wants to go next?"

"I thought I was about to get smited," Hyunjin says in a tiny voice.

"Hyunjinnie wanna go?" Yongbok raises his arms like he's about to haul Hyunjin over his shoulders again.

"No! No, I mean yes, I will go, but I will just go on your back. Please." He paws at Yongbok's shoulders pitifully. "Anywhere but here."

Minho sticks his fingers in his ears as they thunderclap away. He does this for all Yongbok's passengers until he's the only one left on the sidewalk when Yongbok comes to get him. "Minho-hyung!" he says. "Let's go. Everyone is waiting."

"Aren't you tired?" Minho asks. "You've been carrying all of us around."

"Nope!" Yongbok claps his hands together and pats his back. Minho gets the distinct impression that he's a difficult child being coaxed.

"Yongbok, listen," he tells the little celestial. "You can't tell anyone this."

Yongbok straightens up and puts on his serious face. "Okay, Minho-hyung," he says. "I promise I won't."

"I don't like the loud sound it makes when you travel," Minho confesses.

Yongbok's face is a little 'o' of surprise. "It makes a loud sound?" he asks.

"Yes," says Minho. "I've been covering my ears, but I can't do that if I'm on your back."

Growing quiet, Yongbok seems to think very hard. "I've got it, hyung!" he says after a while. "Let's do it this way."

Travel via the Yongbok Express is… something else. Minho is inclined to leave a two-star review.

He huddles close and squeezes his eyes shut as the wind and G-forces attempt to tear him away, but the warding magic keeps him in one piece and Yongbok holds him reassuringly tight. When the wind finally stops screaming and the gravity returns to the right direction, Minho takes his hands out of his ears and says, "The heck? There wasn't any boom at all."

They're just outside Seoul Forest subway station, each of them looking various amounts of horribly windswept. Being the first to arrive, Chan and Hyunjin both look at least presentable, while Jeongin's clawing despairingly at his dark hair and a deeply tangled bird's nest sits on Jisung's head. Changbin has his back to them all as he hisses apologies and assurances to his extremely put-out hair-serpents.

"The pilots in the jets can't hear their own sonic booms," Jisung explains helpfully, oblivious to his new hairdo.

"Lee Minho- _hyung,"_ Hyunjin seethes, his leathery tail flicking back and forth. "I swear on Lucifer's thrice-damned head."

"You can let me down now, Yongbok," says Minho, and Yongbok gently lowers his arms and puts him back on his feet. "Hey, Hyunjinnie," he greets cheerily. "Comfy ride, huh?"

Hyunjin’s hounding him immediately as they start to head into the actual park itself. "Ooh, you are doing this on purpose, I _know_ it," he says, starting to sound a bit like Changbin with how much he's hissing. "If I didn't see how you were like with Seungmin today I'd think you were trying to be competition."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," says Minho. "If you wanted to be carried like the dramatic romantic lead you're trying to be, you could just ask Yongbok. He's very nice."

Hyunjin goggles at him. "If I didn't love you this much," he tells Minho, "I'd suck the soul right out of you right now."

"Hmm," says Minho. "First of all, you don't eat souls. Second of all, aren't you always telling me I don't have one?"

“I have no clue whatsoever how Seungmin puts up with,” Hyunjin gestures to Minho’s entire personage as they walk, “all of this.”

Minho smiles pleasantly. “He doesn’t, so we broke up,” he replies.

Hyunjin stops walking. Jeongin bumps into him and frowns, annoyed. “Excuse me,” he says.

“You _WHAT?”_ shrieks Hyunjin. It rings all too loudly through the mostly-empty park. Changbin makes a shushing sound without turning around and Jeongin decides to cut his losses, scurrying ahead to join the rest of the group.

Minho lets out a low whistle. “Oh, wow. Okay. I have to go talk business, so see you later.”

Hyunjin blubbers incoherently behind him as Minho hurries away. “This isn’t over!” Hyunjin yells at his back. “Lee Minho! I’m beating answers out of you if it’s the last thing I do!”

Chan eyes Minho warily when he runs up to walk beside him. “Are you here to talk about whatever that was, or,” he says.

“No, I’m here to show this to you.” Minho hands the folded piece of notebook paper to Chan, who skims it quickly with furrowed brows. “Seungmin gave this to me before he left.”

“It’s the list of her pseudonyms,” Chan says. He flips the paper up and down, making sure he hasn't missed anything, then hands it back to Minho, looking thoughtful. “He gave this to you, so he thinks you'll be able to use it.”

Characters sit neatly between the lines in Seungmin's simple, unassuming handwriting, spelling out names in their original language before transcribing them into Hangul. Diana. Maeve. Cybele. Some have been scratched out, others circled, and at the bottom of it all is a short string of words, underlined and starred. Minho sighs. "I'm just a guy, Kim Seungmin," he murmurs to himself.

Chan gives him a pointed look. "You're still going on about that?"

"I'm still just a guy, Chan-hyung. That won't change," Minho starts to say, then feels something tug at the edges of his mind. He stops walking just to listen. Faint, so very faint in the distance, there is the ringing of bells, silvery and bright and somewhere off to his left. When he turns to look it's only trees, but he thinks he sees something iridescent flicker in the distance, like light on oil on water.

"In here," he calls out to everyone, stepping off the walking path and into the grass. He thinks he hears Chan mutter _just a guy_ to himself behind him, but ignores it to wave everyone over. "Hurry, before someone sees." 

When he turns back, ready to follow the siren's call, he looks, really _looks_ at the expanse of green before him, and feels his legs freeze up. "Shit," he says under his breath.

He hears feet running off the pavement, muffled movement through the grass. "Careful, hyung," Jisung says, catching up with him. "Where are you going?"

"Something's calling." Even now the sound seems to pull away into the treeline, soft and enticing. Every instinct in Minho's body says to turn, to run along back home, but he takes a deep breath and forces another step into the trees through the ice in his veins. "If we're looking for a way in, it'll be here," he says aloud, but mostly to convince himself.

Jisung's face, never far from a smile, is now a mask of worry as he looks at Minho. "We'll walk together, hyung," he says and takes Minho's hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"What a good boy," Minho says and ruffles Jisung's hair, but only because he knows Jisung can feel the way his hand shakes.

"Allow me," says a light voice. Minho startles as Jeongin moves in front of him, footsteps impossibly silent in the grass. The fox-faced boy hadn’t said much during their walk here, but something about the way the leaves shadow his face and the earthy tones of his fashionably sensible blazer has him almost flicker in and out of view, like camouflage. His hair in the sunlight is the colour of fresh soil. "You will lead the way," he says, "but I will shape it for us, that we will be safe."

"That's weird," says Jisung, "but also kind of cool?"

When Jeongin smiles, the sharp angles of his face transform into one of youthful joy. "Thank you, Han Ji—Jisung-hyung," he says, halting and polite.

Chan finishes herding everyone off the path and calls out from the rear, "When you're ready, Minho." He meets Minho's gaze and gives him a quick nod. There is not a trace of doubt on his face.

Minho nods back. He closes his eyes until he can hear the bells again, this time accompanied by what can only be faint laughter. "This way," he says, opening his eyes, and leads his friends into the woods.

It’s Jeongin who’s in front for the most part, trotting forward at a reasonable pace until Minho directs him elsewhere and he has to adjust his route. Under his guidance, they carve a meandering path through carefully-kept grass and evenly-spaced trees, catching glimpses of other park-goers through the trunks.

“Chan-hyung,” Hyunjin says in a tone that Minho recognises as the beginnings of a whine. “What can your magic do?”

Chan is immediately, and correctly, suspicious. “Why do you ask,” he says warily.

“Oh, well, you know.” Hyunjin waves his hands like it’s just something insignificant. “It all seems very open-ended, and I’m curious! Does functionality ever cross over into frivolity, blah blah blah.”

Chan squints at him. “You sound like you are going to ask me for something,” he says, “and I’m going to have to say no.”

“What!” exclaims Hyunjin, scandalised at being accused and mortified at being _rightfully_ accused. “Hyung, please, just hear me out? I’m not wearing the right kind of shoes for walking,” he wheedles.

“I don’t have magic that gives you walking shoes,” Chan scolds with a disapproving frown. “And I wouldn’t do it even if I did.”

“But my nice loafers,” Hyunjin whines to no one. They really are quite nice, Minho notes. In that single moment of distraction, the ringing bells pull even further away and Minho has to grab Jeongin before he marches off in a newly-incorrect direction. Even when he closes his eyes to focus, the gentle tinkling is almost swallowed by the wind. He mutters a curse under his breath and tries to concentrate.

“Hyung,” Jisung’s voice says urgently, tugging on his hand. “Hyung, where are we?”

“What?” says Minho, trying to keep irritation from creeping into his voice as he opens his eyes. “What are you talking about,” he asks, then takes in their surroundings and begins to understand.

The section of park they’d trekked through had been a simple copse of birch trees, cut through with paths for strolling. There had been dogs and baby prams and little children running down the brickwork, laughing and playing. In _this_ forest, there is only the eight of them. Some branches grow thick and low enough that they have to duck their heads, and the undergrowth beneath their feet tangles around their ankles. A bright blue flower blooms on a branch beside Yongbok’s ear, and he turns to admire it with utter delight. “Pretty here,” he tells everyone.

Jisung wiggles his hand, and Minho realises that he’s been clutching it too tightly. “Okay,” Minho says. “Okay. We’re lost.”

Jeongin’s expression is grave, but not panicked or confused. “The earth smells the same, but the trees are different,” he says. “We are lost, but we are safe.”

“Lost?” Changbin squeaks.

Jeongin sniffs. “I can get us un-lost, if need be.”

"You _let_ us get lost?"

"I _allowed_ us to get lost, because we are being led astray by fickle creatures with ill intentions," Jeongin says, growing annoyed.

“No,” says Minho. “No, that sounds right. I think this is right.” He looks at Chan. “It feels right, that we’re lost. We need to be.”

Chan meets his gaze steadily. “If you’re sure, then we’re with you.”

“I’m sure,” says Minho. For the first time since he'd run into an old flame in a Starbucks two weeks ago, it is the truth.

Their paladin gives him a firm nod, and whatever doubt had been left in Minho evaporates. 

In _this_ forest he can no longer hear the bells, but the laughter rings in the back of his head now, both there and not-there. There is only the chirping of crickets and the distant twittering of birds. With his free hand he reaches into his pocket and pulls out Seungmin’s note, taking an uncertain breath. “She who is borne of Titans, Her Irresolute Majesty, Queen of Elfame,” he reads, as slowly and clearly as he can. “Diana of the Moon, Artemis of the hunt, Una of the _aos sí._ Kind Morgan and good Mabd both, fairest of the faery folk. I call Queen Titania to me,” Minho declares, “and beseech her favor.”

When they’d spoken among themselves before, their voices had been muffled by leaves and by brush. As Minho speaks the last word of Seungmin’s incantation it seems, impossibly, to echo into the forest, carrying further through the wood than any other sound within its canopy. For a moment Minho can only stand there, hearing his own voice fade away until everything is silent again.

“Did it work?” Hyunjin whispers. “Do we have to start a forest fire.”

“Absolutely not,” snaps Jeongin.

“But something’s changed,” Chan says. “I can feel it. Younghyun-hyung feels it too.”

“Um, guys?" says Hyunjin. His voice is small and confused, at odds with the casual way he'd suggested arson just moments before. "I don't want to freak anyone out, but Yongbok was right next to me,” he continues, looking worried. "Has anyone else seen him?"

Minho does a quick headcount: seven, including himself. Yongbok's sparkly dark hair is nowhere to be seen.

Air hisses audibly through Chan’s teeth as he sucks in a horrified breath. “No,” he breathes. “He wouldn’t run off on his own. He wouldn’t.” His hand reaches behind him to wrap around the hilt of his sword, but Minho can’t tell if it’s simply to centre himself or if he means to draw it, to cut a path through to Yongbok until he is returned.

It's Changbin who moves first, stepping close to Chan to put a hand on his shoulder. “He’ll be fine, hyung,” he says, though his voice cracks a little. “You said it yourself, he’s stronger than he looks. And Jeongin can find him. Right, Jeongin?”

“I can find anything and anyone,” Jeongin says. It would’ve been a boast in any other tone, but instead he sounds offended at his abilities being doubted.

“Okay. Alright. Good,” Chan says. “Good. You’re right, Changbin. This is no time to panic.” With effort, he lifts his hand from the pommel and brings it back down to his side. “We’ll find the Queen and then we’ll find Yongbok. He can’t be far.” He reaches to put his hand over Changbin's, but his sleeve is empty.

“Oh no,” Jeongin says. "He was right there."

Chan unsheathes the zweihänder in one fluid movement, and the ebony blade shears through the low-hanging branches around him as though bark were butter. “Whoever’s doing this, you should show yourself,” he says, voice dangerously calm. “You won’t like it if I find you.”

“Hyung, we don’t know what this forest is,” Minho warns. “Be careful.”

“Hyunjin,” Chan commands. “Burn this place to the ground.”

There's no fearful protesting nor fiery anger—Hyunjin has vanished, taking the bright, warming flame of his personality with him. 

"Chan," Minho begins, feeling Chan's demeanor shift into something distinctly un-paladin-like. "Don't."

Something shattered and terrified is reflected in Chan's eyes; Minho fears that they mirror his own. "I have to find them," says Chan. "I'll find them. Stay with Jeongin." He turns with sword in hand, steps around a gnarled, old oak, and disappears.

Jisung had been trying his best to be strong for his hyung, but now he presses close and squeezes Minho's hand tight. “What's happening?" he asks, quietly. "I don't understand, hyung."

Minho pulls away to take Jisung's face in his hands. "Listen to me," he says, making sure Jisung's looking right at him. "You are going to be alone for a bit, but it won't be for long. Just stay put until someone finds you, and everything will be okay. I promise."

Jisung's gaze scans his face. "You promise?"

"Hyung doesn't tell lies," says Minho.

"Uh, you specifically have," Jisung objects. "Many, many, many times before."

"You're a little brat," Minho chides, squishing Jisung's cheeks together. "What did I just tell you to do?"

"Stay put and wait," Jisung repeats obediently. "Like a lost child at the mall."

" _Exactly_ like a lost child at the mall," he says, and lets go of Jisung. He blinks, just once, and his best friend is gone as though he'd never been, as though Jeongin and Minho had always been the only souls passing through this forest.

"What are you," Minho blurts out before he can think better of it. "Sorry. That was rude."

Jeongin sighs in a way that reminds Minho of his own grandpa, back when he'd been seven and hounding him with questions about everything, big or small. "I'm just a normal human boy," Jeongin says. "The things in this forest can't move me against my will, though."

"So you can move freely?"

"As far as I can tell, yes."

"Do you think you could find the others and get them out of here?"

Jeongin stares at him with his normal human boy eyes, and Minho fancifully imagines that the pupils have narrowed again. "I think I could," he says, once he's done with his appraisal of Minho's intentions. "And you?"

"If all goes well," says Minho, "I'll have a ticket out of here named Kim Seungmin."

"And if it doesn't?"

Minho shrugs. "I'll figure something out."

Jeongin stretches, sinuous and limber. "Good enough for me. May the winds bring you the scent of your prey," he says, and with that he’s bounding easily away through the undergrowth. There's a strange relief in Minho's chest as he realises that he can watch Jeongin's retreating figure all the way until it disappears into the treeline.

Then he is left standing in the retreating daylight, alone in a forest that reeks of perfumed ozone.

His knees give out first, and he collapses against a tree, barely managing to keep upright. Panic claws at the edge of his mind. He knows that this forest isn't Faery, not yet, but even its fringes denounce the laws that govern human reality. Minho's life revolves around certainties. Numbers. Spreadsheets. Cold, unmoving iron. Here, there's nothing he can expect, and there's nothing he knows to do.

 _Come find me,_ says the memory of Seungmin's music-voice in his mind, unbidden _. Hyung, listen. Close your eyes._

"You bastard. I heard you the first time," Minho says aloud. "I already said I'd come find you, Kim Seungmin."

He closes his eyes.

When he opens them, he is sitting on the massive gnarled root of a massive, gnarled tree, his feet barely even touching the ground. He does not remember moving, or sitting. Across him, perched on a bed of moss atop a tall, tall rock, is a small, small woman with round, doe-like eyes. As far as Minho can tell, she's dressed in barely a slip's worth of gauzy green material, sewn into something like shorts around her thighs with what appears to be hemp twine. Her hair is dark and dishevelled and cropped carelessly short.

To Minho's false truesight, her glamour is perfect. There are no holes, no double images, not the slightest whiff of perfumed ozone. This is a human woman, all Minho's senses tell him. This is a being of incredible power, scream his instincts, and he needs to run, now, _now._

"Looking for someone else?" she asks, her elbows on her knees, propping up her chin on her hands. Her voice is orchestras, and yet they solidify into one soft, gentle voice in his ear.

Minho had moved to Seoul specifically so he would never have to be asked difficult questions by strange and powerful beings ever again. Life finds a way, it seems. "Um, your Majesty?" Minho tries.

The woman leans slightly to the side as she tilts her head, considering him from a different angle. "I asked you first," she says.

Minho weighs his options. "Yes?" is what he settles on.

"Another question?" She straightens up and regards him with a little frown. "Don't you know how to hold a conversation, leveret?"

"Yes," says Minho with more conviction. "Yes, I'm looking for someone else."

She swings her legs back and forth, bouncing them against the soft moss. "Well, you're the one who called me here. I think that's a bit rude, to be expecting someone else."

"You're Titania," Minho says, unable to keep the fear and wonder out of his voice. "You're really Queen Titania."

The faerie woman purses her lips, displeased. Minho has apparently only managed to offend her every time he speaks. "I don't claim to be Titania or Gloriana or Mabda or whatever else was in your little ditty, leveret," she says. "Those are only names _your_ people call _me."_

"What's your real name, then," asks Minho without thinking, then startles when the Queen of Elfame throws her head back and laughs with the bright, clear sound of a babbling brook.

"Good one," she says, giggling as she wipes at the corner of her eye. "Oh, but you're funny! I always told my courtiers they were silly for toying with you, but you're delightful. Delightful."

"You… know me?" Minho asks, warily.

"I knew _of_ you, Cicada-Child-of-the-Iron-Towers," she says, as though she was simply referring to him by name. "But now that I have seen you I know you, and you know me."

"But I still don't know what to call you."

The Queen smiles, her rosebud lips turned prettily up at the corners. "Bold little leveret. I have grown tired of these names you have called me. I think you will address me by something else." She pauses to consider this, then nods to herself as she continues, "Yes. You will call me something else, child. I think you shall call me Yooa."

Minho nods, but asks, "Just Yooa?"

"What else is there?" 

"I don't know," he says, truthfully. "No 'queen'? 'Your Majesty'?"

Yooa rises gracefully from her seat, somehow balancing perfectly atop the rock despite its uneven mossy planes. With a single, gentle motion, she leaps from its peak to land softly on her feet upon the grass below. "Cicada-child," she commands. "Walk with me, won't you?"

Who is Minho, that he might refuse a request from the Faerie Queen herself? He gets to his feet. Years of dancing have given him almost complete control over his body, but he feels like a clumsy oaf as he moves alongside the short, lithe woman beside him and tries not to trip through the underbrush.

"Listen, little leveret," says Yooa. The forest never changes where Minho can see it, but Yooa never steps into a clump of twigs or gets her face clawed by a low branch, as though she were simply preternaturally lucky. It's deeply unfair. "How can there be a Queen? We are a family here. There is no room for decrees and laws and pomp of that sort. Who has the time?"

"I see," says Minho, struggling with a vine wrapped around his ankle.

"I do not govern my Court, and in turn they hold no power over me."

With some effort Minho manages to free himself, stumbling forward as he asks, "Is there a Kim Seungmin in your Court?"

Yooa has stopped walking. She is much shorter than Minho is, but when she turns her gaze upon him, he feels the urge to bow his head, to shrink away. "No Kim Seungmin exists in my Court," she says.

"Oh," says Minho. "And you're sure about that?"

"Positive," she replies, lips curving pleasantly, like she's about to laugh at a joke Minho's not privy to.

Okay. He's no fool. "That's not his name, is it? Not a true one, anyway."

"Why, I don't know what you mean. Without a name I simply have no idea who you're referring to," Yooa tells him, eyes glittering.

"Really?" Minho asks. "Because I called you by six names that weren't yours and you showed up fine."

With a delighted clap of her hands, Yooa's laughing again. "Good, good! Question me, keep me on my toes. Oh, you _are_ fun. Are you sure you don't want to stay?" She really is beautiful, as she smiles earnestly at Minho with her rose-powdered cheeks. "You would be my guest. We can eat and make merry with all the rest."

Minho feels himself freeze up. "I don't know what you mean," he lies.

Yooa opens her mouth for a moment. At first Minho waits for her to speak, then realises he's seen Soonie do the same thing when he's trying to get a good whiff of something. "Curious," she says. "Curious, indeed. I take that to mean you don't wish to stay very much at all."

"Seems pretty lonely here," Minho comments in a bid to turn attention away from himself.

"Should I interest you in somewhere else, then? Somewhere with friends and parties and birdsong, all day long, forever." She regards him with an appraising eye. "You love to dance, don't you?"

Minho stays carefully, fearfully silent.

"Hmm," says Yooa. "I know it's true. I can see it in every step you take." She does a leap as she moves, twirling once in the air before landing ever so lightly on her feet. "Dance for me. Dance with me, leveret."

"Please," says Minho. "I'm just here to look for someone."

"And I'm asking for a performance," Yooa replies. "We both want something from each other. Perhaps we could do a trade? Perhaps over tea?" For the first time since he'd met her, Minho sees something sparking behind her dark eyes. It's a clear show of power; she'd been able to tuck everything away this whole time. 

His throat goes very dry. "Not that I'm interested, but what kind of trade?" he says, trying not to rasp.

"We're not unreasonable here," says the Queen. "And you've been around us long enough to understand, haven't you? I'm sure you can come to your own conclusions."

It's a trap. It's clearly, _obviously_ a trap, but he'd only ever promised not to _speak_ of it again—his old plan lingers in the back of his mind, the one that had torn them apart, and he thinks of it every moment he is reminded that Seungmin is gone. "One existence for another," Minho is saying, before he can stop himself.

Yooa smiles widely. It's almost wolfish, despite her small stature. "A trade? We do so love a good exchange. Everyone gets what they want and goes home happy. Isn't that right, cicada-child?"

"I wouldn't know," he replies hastily.

"Perhaps not, right now," Yooa says, smiling patiently. "But you will when you have traded with us."

"But then,” he says, “that means that you do know Kim Seungmin."

Yooa gives him a wide, mischievous grin. "We know who it is you want. One of our children. I must say, you do know how to pick them! So brilliant, so full of mischief and light. And his voice!” She sings a single note as if to demonstrate. The sound is beautiful and clear and sends shivers through Minho as it carries through the forest, but it sounds nothing like Seungmin’s.

“Beautiful,” Minho agrees.

“Thank you!” says Yooa. “I try my best.”

“Right,” says Minho, trying not to sound sheepish. “That’s what I meant.”

“Is that why you want him?” Minho knows Yooa is probably older than civilisation itself, but now she sounds like a gossiping schoolgirl, looking up at him with wide, curious eyes. “Is he song, to your dance? Oh, but that’s no fair! A party with just the two of you. How selfish.” Her expression grows stern and for a moment Minho fears he’s offended her, but she’s soon smiling again, saying, “But how terribly romantic, too!”

“We don’t…” Minho clears his throat. “We don’t do that.” But now the thought is in his head to stay for good, and if he ever entertains the idea again no one has to know.

“And you won’t,” Yooa says with a nod, “if you’re doing the trade!” 

Minho feels his blood run cold again, and he can’t speak. In his silence Yooa continues, “You can dance with us, instead! Everyone can sing, not just the one child. I’m sure we can teach you some new tricks, too.” She twirls around him with her arms outstretched, her face turned up towards the sun as she laughs delightedly. “In Faery there is nothing to want. In Faery there is no one to stop you, leveret. Come.” 

_Do you think l want to stay here when you’re stuck over there?_

The hardest part about leaving had been the forest. The hardest part about leaving had been knowing that, for the rest of his life, Minho would never be able to sit in the grass under the shade of branches overhead as he read or napped or, gods forbid, did homework. The hardest part about leaving had come after he’d left, when he’d been invited to a picnic in high school and couldn’t set one foot into the tiny neighbourhood park. When Minho loves Seoul, it is as the prisoner of a safe haven.

Minho still keeps his own note in his pocket even though he’d made a promise to Seungmin, because even in his last days where the line between human and fae had been most tenuous, Kim Seungmin still takes the steel-lined subway. Because the changeling boy loves Seoul, and Seoul can find him someone else. He will find someone else.

A year ago is when Minho first decides that he will not take that away from him, and Seungmin decides in turn that he will simply leave first, instead.

Two weeks ago Seungmin crash-lands back into his life with sharp words and bright eyes. He doesn't quite fit into the hole he'd left; they are different people now, and Minho has carved out other spaces for new people. But the clumsy, irregular way they fit together now means that Minho _wants:_ more moments, more time, more of this.

Here, in an ever-changing, fae-touched forest where the Faerie Queen herself has extended an invitation to be her guest, something selfish takes Minho over.

“No,” says Minho. “There’s not going to be an exchange.”

Yooa pauses, arching her back to look at him over her shoulder. “No?” she says. Her eyes are unreadable.

“I’m not coming with you,” Minho says, louder. “I’m not doing a trade, I’m not going to Faery. I’m going to go back to the city and I’m going to take Kim Seungmin with me.”

He has Yooa’s full attention, now. Her eyes stare unblinkingly into him, and as he looks into them the dark hues of her irises begin to shift and burn. A branch that had towered over him now catches the sleeve of his shirt. Something curls up his pant leg and he looks down to see creeping ivy grown halfway to his knee, while a tree root begins to pull itself over the shoe of his other leg. “No?” says Yooa again, and her orchestra-voice reverberates into the ground beneath his feet and through the entire forest. “No?”

 _You’re as stubborn as ever,_ says Kim Seungmin. _Come find me._

Yooa’s barely visible now, both from the wind whipping into Minho’s eyes and the sheer power emanating from her as she does nothing more than stand calmly in a clearing. The air grows heavy on his shoulders, and his ears pop like he’s in a fast elevator. He grits his teeth. “I’m going home!” he shouts into the growing storm. “I’m going home with Kim Seungmin and all my friends and I’m not coming with you!”

His words are pulled from his mouth and swallowed immediately by the gale, taking with it all the breath in his lungs. For a few heartbeats he gasps uselessly for air, and then the world begins to tear to shreds at the corners of his vision, bit by bit, leaf by leaf, until—

Until he blinks, and he is sitting on the massive, gnarled root of a massive, gnarled tree. A slight, beautiful woman who is neither forest or storm or immovable force of nature stands before him, shrugging her shoulders. “Alright then,” she says, breezily. “Suit yourself.”

Minho sucks in a desperate breath of air, and it fills his chest with no problem. It tastes like dew and sunlight. “What?” he croaks.

“I did think it was a rather good deal, obviously,” Yooa tells him with a dismissive wave of her hand. “But you know, a contract is an agreement on both sides and so on and so forth.”

Words don’t come, so Minho just sits and stares some more.

The Faerie Queen waves a hand in front of Minho’s face. “Hello, leveret? Wakey wakey.”

“I don’t think I’m wakey right now,” says Minho.

A laugh bursts out of Yooa, and she claps her hands together again, hopping up and down at the same spot. “I would _adore_ keeping you here forever,” she says brightly. “You and all your other little kits and pups.”

The mention of his friends snaps Minho out of it a little. “Where are they,” he says. “Did you do that to them? Are they safe?”

“Questions, questions,” muses Yooa. “You have so very many of them. There aren’t correct answers for everything, you know. It’s what we run on, here.”

Minho just glares.

Yooa’s expression turns into one of not unlike someone cooing at a puppy. “Aw, look at him! So angered with worry for his friends. Fret not, little one. That nasty old fox you seem to like has them.” She scrunches up her nose. “I’d have liked it better if he hadn’t gotten in, but at least it’s only my, what is it you mortals call it? My back yard?”

Nasty old fox, huh. “So they’re fine,” Minho says.

“They cannot leave quickly enough,” Yooa complains, her hands on her hips. “If that pup waves his little knife around one more time I’ll boot him out myself.”

“As much as I want to see that, thank you for letting them go,” Minho tells her. “I mean it.”

Squinting at him a little, Yooa declares, “You’re a funny little thing. You brought them in, you called me. Just you! I don’t have to entertain anyone else.” She shakes her head. “A shame. A shame. I hope you’ll reconsider, of course! Maybe I’ll ask again in fifty years,” giggles the Faerie Queen. “You may take your leave as well. Already I grow tired of not having you.”

Minho tries to smile back, but it doesn't really happen. “I’d love to go, I really would," he says, "but I’m not really familiar with the area.”

“That’s no problem of mine,” sniffs Yooa. “If you won’t go, then _I_ will. So there.” She turns on one sandalled heel and begins to march away from Minho and into the forest. He watches her go for a while, dumbfounded. Then she stops and turns around, cups her hands around her mouth and shouts, “And next time, if you’re looking for someone else, just call for them immediately, leveret!”

When Minho blinks again, Yooa is gone. 

He’s standing on his feet in a different section of the forest. The massive tree is nowhere to be seen. He is alone, but any fear left in him had been eaten by the Faerie Queen’s storm, and his heart beats calmly, steadily. It’s a beautiful forest, truly; sunlight filters prettily through the canopy, casting moving gold on everything, and flowering weeds dot the underbrush with specks of colour. There’s enough space to walk between the trees, now. Minho wonders if his mind has felt this clear since he was twelve, falling asleep in the branches of his favourite oak.

“Kim Seungmin,” he says, tentatively. “Kim Seungmin,” he calls, louder, listening to the sound bounce through the forest. “You said you could find me anywhere, didn’t you? You liar.”

A songbird, too high up above him for him to see, whistles something tuneless and sweet. Minho sighs and sits down right there in the fallen leaves and grass. "Why haven't you ever accidentally told me your true name, Rumplestiltskin," he mutters.

But of course he hasn't. They don't speak—they don't have to. Something shifts into place in Minho's mind, like the final scrap of a torn-up map, and a frantic, desperate hope blazes back to life in his chest.

A year and two weeks' worth of clues. He knows it. He already knows.

He rips his rings off his fingers and flings them into the grass. It takes a while longer to get his earring off, too much longer, but eventually he frees himself from it and it disappears into the undergrowth with one final twinkle of metal.

 _i know it's you lee minho,_ he'd received once, in a text from an unsaved number. "I know you, Kim Seungmin," he whispers into damp, earthy air. "I know you." Then he speaks the sounds aloud, syllables of metal and paper and trees and song, of a sharp mind and a kind heart and voice honest and raw, and as he forms each word he feels them ring with truth. He speaks it again, feeling it roll off his tongue, over and over. It fits so comfortably. "I came to find you, asshole," he tells the forest. "Now come and get me, like you said you would."

"You're the asshole," sing the windchimes behind him. "That's not the name my parents gave me."

Minho's vision blurs, but he quickly blinks his eyes clear. "About time," he says, without turning around. "About damn time. What took you so long? Everyone left, already."

A gentle weight presses into his back. It's colder than Minho's body temperature, as are the too-slim, too-long arms that reach around from behind him and wrap gently around his chest. "Why didn't you?"

"I was forced to make a promise, and I hate breaking promises." Minho puts his own shaking hand on the one placed over his heart. Its fingers are too long and too many, but it clutches desperately at Minho's, lacing their digits together as best as it can. His hand is still too small in Seungmin's, especially now. It makes him laugh.

Something nudges the back of his head; Seungmin's trying to put his cheek into Minho's hair again. "You're laughing at me already," Seungmin complains. "I haven't even been back a minute."

"We're not back, though. We're still here."

"Back to you," says Seungmin. 

Minho closes his eyes. When he opens them again he's still sitting cross-legged on a forest floor, being held from behind by a fae-creature. "Let's go home," he says, squeezing the hand in his even tighter, though he's sure Seungmin's already cutting off his blood circulation at this point.

"I can't," Seungmin says, and the sound is faded and dulled, like chimes in a rainstorm. "I don't have a shell anymore. I can't go anywhere near the city, not for long."

"What do you need?"

"I don't know." He's frustrated, but not at Minho. "Some kind of magical anchor, like the selkies have. Or something with a powerful enchantment. I don't know." He draws closer to Minho. "I didn't think I'd get this far."

Minho shifts to try and glare at him, but Seungmin quickly ducks out of sight, and Minho quickly relents. "You didn't think—you didn't plan for this? You didn't have a plan. Kim Seungmin didn't have a plan." Seungmin headbutts him from behind and clunks their skulls together. "Ow, fuck."

"Shut up," snaps Seungmin. "I had two weeks left to do research, okay? I wasn't planning on being distracted."

"Oh, so it's _my_ fault now? It's Hyunjin's fault if anything."

"Cool, if we get out of here I'll go shout at him or whatever. Any useful input, Lee Minho-hyung?"

"Kim Seungmin," says Minho. "How about you enter a contract with me?"

Seungmin goes very, very still behind him. "That's a dangerous, dangerous thing to offer me," he says quietly.

"Fae agreements are dangerous, yes. You being dangerous, I'm not really sure about."

"You don't understand," Seungmin insists. "Each word we decide on is a chance for misinterpretation. There's nothing stopping me from—"

"I know," Minho interrupts. Seungmin falls silent, because Minho definitely, definitely knows. "But you won't."

"I _can."_

"But you won't." Before Seungmin can protest again, Minho reaches his free hand behind him to hold what he assumes is Seungmin's knee, or some other equivalent, and the fae boy quiets. "Would you rather I bound you to me with your true name?"

"Honestly, yes."

"Enter an agreement with me," Minho presses, pretending he hasn't heard Seungmin. "We can discuss the details properly. It'll be fine."

"I'll bind myself to you," argues Seungmin. "You'll be safe from anyone else in my... other family. I'll be able to hide myself from everyone else. It'll be good."

Seungmin, hiding away and living as a ghost. "No," Minho says.

Immediately, Seungmin starts to anger. "I will not let you be taken advantage of, even by me. _Especially_ by me."

"I'll bind myself to you, too," Minho says. "You can draw on my humanity to give yourself a presence. With enough time you'll be able to go to school on your own."

Seungmin is quiet for a long moment. When he speaks again it feels like it's with his face in Minho's hair. "You would do that?" he asks, tiny and distant.

Minho knows Seungmin can't see his face, but puts on a scornful expression anyway. "Yes? I wouldn't suggest it otherwise."

"You'd be stuck with me," Seungmin says, stopping short of a few select words. Minho intuits them, feels them weigh on his chest. _Till death. Forever._ "You won't be alone with anyone the same way again."

"Who would I want to be alone with?" Minho asked, beginning to grow irritated.

"I really can't tell if you're being dense or difficult."

"Okay, but If I'm getting something from you and you're getting something from me, then it's an agreement, right? So we're still kind of doing a contract."

Seungmin pulls away and Minho can feel his displeased stare even without looking. "Difficult," Seungmin concludes.

"Look, do you want to get fairy-hitched or not," Minho snaps, annoyed.

"It's a big decision you stupid hyung," yells Seungmin in response. "You can't just ask and expect me to have an answer ready!"

"Alright, fine!" Minho throws his hands in the air in exasperation, dragging Seungmin's upwards as well. Take your time, then."

High above the forest, twilight sets in. Shadows grow long as the sun sheds its last rays, and for a moment Minho remembers to be afraid, defenseless in a fae-touched forest. But Seungmin's sighing as he settles in around Minho, leaning fully across Minho's back and resting his head into the crook of his neck. It stings a little bit as he brushes against the bite on Minho’s shoulder. "Move to the right a little," Minho tells him.

Seungmin jerks his head back. "I forgot," he says. "Sorry."

"It's fine, just don't bump it."

"No, I… I think I can do something." His arms unwind from Minho's chest, and fingers tug lightly at the collar of Minho's shirt. "Can I…?"

Minho angles his head away and stares intently at some bushes. "Do whatever," he says.

The cotton of Minho's good shirt gives way easily, exposing his shoulder to the air. Seungmin sucks in a breath. “I’m sorry,” he says again. Cold fingers trace along the raw skin; Minho had forgotten that it hurt, after everything that’s happened, but it’s not why he shivers. “Is this okay?” asks Seungmin.

“Yes,” replies Minho, impatiently. “Just do your hocus-pocus thing and get it over with.”

Seungmin sighs. “Give me a second to figure it out.”

“We’re losing daylight,” Minho tells him, because they are. Deepening azure has faded into a navy blue, and each tree is only a shadow, now. He clutches restlessly at his thighs, wishing his hands were still occupied.

“Hyung, just wait.” Behind him, Seungmin takes a deep breath. He blows a gentle breeze along Minho's shoulder, raising goosebumps on his skin as a strange, crawling sensation comes over the bite. It grows horribly, excruciatingly itchy, but it dissipates before Minho can reach a hand up to scratch it. When Seungmin’s fingers pass directly across where the bite had been, Minho flinches instinctively, but nothing hurts. There is only the press of fingers on unbroken skin. 

Seungmin lets Minho examine the place where the bite had been himself. As far as he can tell, it's like he'd never been bitten at all. “Not bad,” Minho says, impressed despite himself.

“Better than your stupid band-aids.” replies Seungmin, adjusting Minho’s shirt collar with careful hands until Minho catches one and gives it an urgent tug. “What?”

“Kim Seungmin, look.” When Minho points at the sky, he can only see the shape of his arm silhouetted against the deep, unending darkness of the expanse above. It’s a clear, cloudless night, and scattered across it like so much sand are thousands of stars, galaxies and constellations tangling into each other, each one visible to the naked eye. In the middle of it all sits a waxing Moon, looking diminutive in the beauty of her subjects. It is a resplendent display, but Minho turns away from it all to ask Kim Seungmin, “Are you looking?”

“I’m looking,” Seungmin says. In the gentle moonlight, Minho can only make out his outline: dark hair flowing past slim shoulders and too-long limbs curled up close to him. There is a flickering movement behind his back, iridescent and fleeting and pulsing to a slow beat Minho can’t hear. The creature beside him is far from human, but the eyes gazing out with open wonder at the night sky glow with brilliant lights of their own, and the last of Minho’s fear melts away. “It’s beautiful,” Kim Seungmin whispers in his windchime-voice.

“Isn’t it?” says Minho. “There’s no seeing this in Seoul.”

Seungmin’s mouth had been open as he’d watched the night sky, but now he snaps it shut and turns with clear annoyance to glare at Minho. The face of his faerie-self is shrouded in shadow, but his eyes widen as he sees Minho looking right at him. Immediately Seungmin attempts to jerk away, but Minho catches his hands and holds them fast, too-many fingers and all. “Hyung,” Seungmin says, in a small, terrified sound. “I’m Seungmin, I promise.”

“I know,” says Minho. “I know you.”

Seungmin’s hands are balled up into fists, and Minho knows if he lets go Seungmin will disappear again. “You’re not afraid,” he says, haltingly.

“I’ve seen lots worse, dumbass.”

“That doesn’t reassure me,” Seungmin replies, but his hands slowly uncurl, and he lets Minho thread their fingers together again.

“What happened to the Kim Seungmin who charmed the pants off a poor café employee?” Minho asks. “He’s still here in front of me. I don’t see anyone else.”

Seungmin is silent, but his eyes flicker gently in the darkness. “Thank you,” he says, after a while.

Eventually, the infinity stretching out above the two of them draws their attentions back to it. Minho doesn’t know enough about constellations to pinpoint their current location, but his eyes can track the movements of the stars across the sky and he figures that there isn’t a point to that, in this forest. “I had to leave all of this—” Minho indicates the shimmering night sky with his chin, “when I moved to Seoul.”

“Oh,” breathes Seungmin.

“Are you sure you want to leave all this too?” asks Minho. “This place, your Court. Endless parties and dancing, or whatever it was she told me.”

Seungmin shakes his head. His long, dark hair spills from his shoulders as he moves, and Minho wishes it was not late September, that a full moon might shine a little brighter on this Seungmin’s face. “Ask properly, hyung,” he says, and Minho can hear the tiny smile in his voice.

Minho sighs. He speaks Seungmin’s true name again, watching the way the swirling lights in Seungmin’s eyes grow brighter at the magic contained within. “Kim Seungmin,” he adds as well, for good measure. “Will you leave Faery to be stuck with me, just some guy who lives in Seoul?”

Seungmin’s eyes glitter a deep, splendid green. “Yes,” he says, and something in the air shifts like the pressure changing in the cabin of an airplane. “Lee Minho, will you give part of yourself so that iron doesn’t burn, that charms do not deter, and that I can take the subway without feeling like I’m suffocating?”

“Sounds fair to me,” Minho says, feeling like his heart might beat out of his chest.

As the last syllables leave his tongue, an overpowering scent of ozone fills his nose. The stars begin to swim as his vision swims, and he gasps desperately for air for the second time in a day. Reality itself shudders around him—the forest is, the forest is-not, Minho is, Minho is-not—but the hands gripping his, painfully, reassuringly tight, anchor him to existence. They pull him forward and he stumbles into Seungmin’s chest as arms the right size lock safely around him, and a five-fingered hand holds the back of his head protectively close. “Hyung!” he hears Seungmin shout as the forest begins to shatter and break, his light voice pitched low with effort. “Hyung, I’m taking us home!”

All Minho can do is cling to Seungmin’s sweater as a hole rips open in reality itself, and they go free-falling through.

↺

"—up. Wake up, wake up." Something pokes at the side of his head, scratchy like a tree branch. It probably is one, knowing who’s sprawled out on his back on top of him. “Hello hello hello.”

Minho doesn’t remember when he’d fallen asleep, but it can’t have been for very long; when he cracks his eyes open, the dappled shadows on the ground haven’t seemed to move at all. A chestnut-brown head of hair bobs in front of his face, not even bothering to look up as he swings the twig at Minho again. "Mm," says Minho, already wide awake. "Five more minutes."

"You never need five more minutes."

"I want five more minutes now, Kim Seungmin."

Now Seungmin shifts from his comfortable position to look at him, craning his neck and squinting through the afternoon sun. “You’re already awake,” he says. “I knew it.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“I knew it.”

“Don’t tell lies.”

“I can,” Seungmin says, eyes glittering with mischief. “And I will.”

Not for the first time, Minho wonders what he’s done by letting this being of chaos run free in Seoul. “That’s not something to be proud of.”

Seungmin scoffs. “Don’t start acting like a hyung now.” He taps the twig in his hand against where Minho’s forearms are wrapped around his chest. “Anyway, you were suffocating me so now that you’re awake stop doing that. Nooo,” he complains as Minho tries to drag him upwards, wriggling out of his grasp and sliding back down so his head can rest on Minho’s chest. “Okay, better.”

“You woke me up just for that?”

“Yes,” Seungmin says, unrepentant. “You drag me all the way out to your hometown and then fall asleep on me. That’s unacceptable. Don’t you have any manners?”

“But this _is_ the attraction,” insists Minho, removing one arm to gesture at the open forest around them. Summer’s ending, and so is cicada season at the old farm. Today’s itinerary, like most other days since they’d come to visit, had been to open up a picnic mat and try to catch sight of the last of the little creatures before they all disappear come cold season.

Seungmin snags a cookie out of one of their tupperwares. “You also can’t take me to an attraction and then fall asleep during the activity,” he says, through a bite of chocolate chip. “That’s even worse.”

Yongbok had gifted them a big box of baked goods before they left. "For your grandpa and your grandma,” he’d said, full to bursting with delight over the concept of _grandparents_ and _vacations_ and some other little things Minho’s evil, backstabbing friends had taught him, once their _thing_ had become public knowledge.

It hadn’t really been, not even after they’d fallen out of a tree and landed amongst their friends, two hours before the end of Seungmin’s birthday. Amid the screaming (Jisung) and the crying (Hyunjin) and the laughter (Yongbok), Minho takes one look at the new and improved Seungmin and says, “There’s something wrong with your face.”

Seungmin blinks. He puts his hands to his cheeks, checks his nose for any crookedness. “What? What’s wrong with my face?”

“It’s too pretty,” Minho declares.

Jisung chokes on air. “Wh—was that flirting?” he blubbers, voice still pitched loud from his first terrified, then delighted shouting. “Hyung, did you just flirt?”

“I don’t flirt. What are you talking about?” Minho reaches out two fingers to pinch the corner of Seungmin’s cheek. “Look at him. It’s like he’s wearing five layers of makeup.”

Chan looks over Seungmin’s face extremely seriously. “I don’t know, Minho,” he says. “He looks like Seungmin to me.”

“How bad is it,” Seungmin asks.

“I think if you went home like this your mom might throw you out,” Minho says.

“Seungmin,” adds Yongbok, crawling between them and climbing all over Seungmin with his spindly limbs. “Seungmin!”

“Oof,” says Seungmin as an elbow clocks him in the jaw. Minho’s about to laugh, but Yongbok grabs him by the arm and pulls him close, too, rubbing his face against Minho’s temple. It reminds him of Soonie, and Minho grudgingly feels his attachment to the little celestial grow a little more solid.

“You brought him back.” Yongbok’s eyes are wide as galaxies. “You brought Seungmin back, like you said you would.”

“I did, didn’t I?” Minho says, trying to disentangle himself from Yongbok with no luck. “I keep my word. My credit rating improves every day.”

Yongbok laughs. Minho isn’t sure such a sound of pure joy can exist in anyone else. “I don’t know what that is!”

Before Minho can try to explain the concept of bonds and securities and other investment products to a celestial being from outer space, a soft, calming presence surrounds him. Where Yongbok has managed to wrangle them both into a hug, Bang Chan somehow manages to wrap his arms around all three of them, pulling them close. Minho finds himself stuck between Chan’s arm and Yongbok, who burrows happily into the contact. Minho’s tempted to do the same; it’s warm and safe, like falling asleep beside a crackling hearth.

“Chan-hyung,” Seungmin says. He gets his free arm on Chan’s back, giving him gentle pats as he speaks. “Hyung, I’m okay.”

Chan sniffles, quietly.

“Chan-hyung,” Seungmin repeats, a little exasperated this time.

“I’m just so, so glad you’re back,” says Chan, his choked-up voice cracking wonderfully. “I’m glad you’re both back.”

“Hyung, you’re embarrassing us,” complains Seungmin, but buries his face in the crook of Chan’s neck anyway.

Someone lets out a sob. “It’s beautiful,” Hyunjin cries into Changbin’s shoulder, grabbing a hair-snake and trying to wipe his cheek with it. The annoyed snake bites him on the wrist, but he doesn’t even seem to notice. “Minho-hyung brought him back.”

When Chan releases them, he’s not quite crying, but his eyes are red-rimmed and wet. “Thank you, Minho,” he says, and for a single terrifying moment Minho thinks he might try to hug him again. “Thank you.”

“I think I did a good job too,” replies Minho as he slumps gratefully back onto the trimmed grass, finally freed from his overly-friendly friends. “But isn’t this a little bit too much credit? All I did was read some text. You and Seungmin compiled it, Yongbok brought us here, Jeongin led us in.” He looks over at his boys and adds, “and you three were emotional support.”

“I try my best,” Jisung says with a proud little grin. Changbin flashes them a quick thumbs up before he goes back to prying his snake out of Hyunjin’s claws.

“You used my incantation?” Seungmin asks. Minho’s seen this look of scholarly excitement on him before, when he’s reading about a particularly interesting philosophy, or he’s found a singer he likes. “Did it work?”

“I spoke to her. Her name is Yooa now, apparently.” Minho crosses his arms. “She tried to get me to dance in Faery forever, or something. Anyway I said no.”

Seungmin’s eyes get even wider, somehow. “Fascinating,” he breathes. “An actually reliable method of contacting the Queen of Elfame herself. Chan-hyung, I think this is a breakthrough of some kind.”

“Huh?” Chan says, clinging to Seungmin with both his arms and with one leg thrown over Seungmin’s calf. “Hm? What?”

“Never mind,” sighs Seungmin. “I’ll refine the research myself.”

“It’s your work, anyway,” says Minho, pulling out a folded piece of paper in his pocket and handing it to Seungmin. “Here.”

Seungmin examines the little square bit of paper in his hand, looking a little confused. It’s only when he’s already taken off the little bit of tape and unfolded it that Minho realises what he’s handed Kim Seungmin, and rushes to snatch it back. But it’s too late. Seungmin’s already picked up the crumpled receipt that falls out of it, quickly skimming the contents of both. When he meets Minho’s gaze again, the dark brown of his eyes flickers and melts, glowing gold for just a moment.

“What’s that?” asks Jisung, craning his neck to get a look at the papers in Seungmin’s hand.

“Nothing,” Seungmin says quickly, snapping his hand closed and stuffing the papers in his own pocket.

“That didn’t seem like nothing,” Jisung points out fairly.

“It’s nothing unless you want the good Queen of the fair folk to take you away,” Minho adds.

“Okay, point taken. I’ll just not ask.”

They’d filled them in: Jeongin had found each of their missing friends and brought them back to Seoul Forest, where they’d been scolded by a park ranger for going out of bounds. Then Chan had to explain to his government liaison why there’d been continuous reports of seven sudden, deafening thunderclaps all throughout Geumho, spaced out over the span of about ten minutes. And then Chan had yelled, suddenly and without warning, because they’d all forgotten about the party favors and left the warehouse full of crumbs and trash.

Seungmin’s birthday had been truly over by the time they’d finished cleaning up, but no one had really wanted to go home. Minho had woken up from Changbin throwing his arm in his face and his leg had cramped up in the night from when Jeongin had clung to his thigh in his sleep, and he’d never felt more comfortable.

Or maybe not. Lying against a tree near his grandparents’ house and listening to the sounds of the forest while a troublesome weight on his chest eats one of his best friend’s cookies ranks pretty high as well.

“I know you’re thinking about something weird right now,” says Seungmin, “so stop.”

Minho exhales through his nose. “Mind your own business. Just read your book, or something.”

“You only got me three of them. What am I supposed to do when I finish this last one?”

“Write your own,” Minho suggests.

“You don’t even have anything interesting lined up for tonight,” Seungmin continues to complain, as though Minho hasn’t spoken. “We’re going back to Seoul tomorrow and we’ve done absolutely nothing out here. There hasn’t been even _one_ cicada.”

“If you’re done complaining,” says Minho, “there’s always this.” He picks up the little folding mirror beside the cookie boxes and unfolds it, setting it down on Seungmin’s chest.

“Nooo,” Seungmin whines for the second time in ten minutes.

“Exactly,” says Minho. “Right there.” He tugs at Seungmin’s cheek. In the mirror it seems to flicker and fade where Minho touches it. “Your cheek doesn’t do that. There’s a curve here, like a bump, especially when you laugh.”

With a sigh, Seungmin finally gives up and settles his face into one of concentration. It takes a moment, but the area Minho had indicated seems to shift itself into place, and a bit more of the old Kim Seungmin comes back. “How’s that?” he asks.

“Better.” Minho shifts Seungmin’s head this way and that, squinting at their reflections in the tiny mirror. “Wait,” he says. “You didn’t put the scar back.”

“What scar?” Seungmin asks, innocently.

“Just because you _can_ lie doesn’t mean I won’t still know when you’re lying,” Minho tells him.

Seungmin scowls, because Minho’s right and he doesn’t like it when Minho’s right. The pimple scar on his chin slowly materialises back into place. “I didn’t feel like it today, okay,” he says, snippily.

“Don’t come knocking if you don’t look like your passport photo anymore, then.”

“ _Ugh.”_ Seungmin slams the folding mirror closed with one hand, then shoves it unceremoniously off his chest. “What’s the big deal?” he says, clambering off Minho and getting to his feet, looking downright murderous in his lounge tee and khaki cargo shorts and thick spectacles. “Can’t I just feel like looking a little nicer today?”

Minho sighs. “Seungmin,” he says.

“ _You_ try learning how to shape glamour without anyone to teach you,” snaps Seungmin. “Glamour is _pure magic.”_

Minho’s first charms had fizzled and burned themselves out, but Seungmin’s capable hands had shown him the right strokes and taught him the right words. Now Minho can conjure a simple glow or a tiny matchstick flame, but it’s the way Seungmin’s eyes light up that keeps him going. He creates one of those now, hidden away in his palm as he mutters the words under his breath.

“What?” Seungmin asks, suspicious. “What are you saying?”

“Look.” Minho raises his fist up so Seungmin can see. When he unfurls his fingers, two bright steady balls of colourless light sit in his palm, spinning gently around each other. “Two of them,” Minho announces, grinning.

For a moment Seungmin’s eyes widen, and his lips twitch upwards in a half-smile. Then he remembers to be angry, and goes back to his thunderous expression. “I can’t be around you right now,” he declares. “I’m going to get more barley tea.” He turns on his heel and starts to head towards his shoes at the side of their mat.

Minho scrambles to his feet, extinguishing the little lights in his panic. “Seungmin, wait—”

Seungmin doesn’t take three steps before he’s pulled off his feet by a mighty tug on his back, as though he’d reached the end of an invisible rope. He almost falls backwards, but Minho’s catching him and placing him back on his feet before he falls and hurts himself. He dazedly clutches at Minho’s hands on his waist for a moment, then shrugs Minho off with a small, strangled scream. “I’m going to go mad,” he says.

“At least it’s three steps now,” Minho replies, turning Seungmin by the shoulders so he can adjust the freshly-crooked glasses on his face. “I was counting.”

Seungmin sighs deeply, pushing the glasses out of his face as he rubs at it with both hands. “Do you want more tea,” he says, and most of what detail Minho remembers of his face is back; moles on his cheek, marks on his cheeks and chin, which eye of his is the one that’s slightly raised on his face. Seungmin sleeps now, though, and Minho no longer insists on his dark circles being there. The result is a face that Minho’s still surprised to see when he wakes up in the morning, even though it’s been a full week since.

“I can do tea,” Minho says, brushing off his t-shirt. “Will the ants get the cookies?”

With a quick wave of his hand, Seungmin confirms, “Not anymore.” It takes him longer to put on his sandals, but eventually he pulls the back strap over his heels and grudgingly takes Minho’s hand, letting himself be led down the slope to the beaten forest path. He doesn’t bother pulling away even once they’re past the rocky bits, and they begin to head down the big dirt road, hand in hand. “You’re in a good mood,” Seungmin notes, already sounding less annoyed.

Minho doesn’t bother denying it. “I get to see the forest and _halmeonie_ today,” he says. “I’ll get to see Soonie and my parents tomorrow.”

Seungmin hums, swinging their hands a little bit. “You are so easy to please,” he says.

There is a gentle musicality behind that soft sound, and it reminds Minho of something as their feet kick up the dirt of the road. “Seungmin-ah,” he starts, then stops.

“Okay,” replies Seungmin. “I’ll do it.”

They’d never had to speak much aloud, but even Minho’s surprised. “You will?”

“I haven’t sung it in a while, though.” Seungmin clears his throat, testing a few notes with his voice. It comes out clear and steady. “I don’t know why you like this stupid pixy-song so much,” he prefaces, once he’s satisfied with how he sounds.

“Do both,” Minho says.

“Both?”

“Both voices. This one and the other one.”

Seungmin blinks. He places his hand on his throat. “Like this?” he says, and it’s still Kim Seungmin who speaks, but it sounds like there are little bells in his lungs, tinkling merrily with each word.

Minho nods twice in quick succession. Seungmin smiles, just long enough for Minho to notice, and takes a quiet, musical breath.

Down the old dirt road and through the forest flows an old faerie melody, sung in a voice accompanied only by itself. When Seungmin sings for Minho alone, it is a quiet, gentle thing, sonorous and warm. But here, his voices echo over each other and the trees themselves seem to shiver with the weight of the yearning-song that flows from Seungmin’s lips. Minho knows that he’ll never remember how it goes, but when he hears it from _him,_ he understands every word, every not-word—the torment of being apart, the fleeting joy of togetherness; an unending cycle of greed.

When the last notes fade into the afternoon breeze, something wet drips down Minho’s cheek.

There's a small satisfaction on Seungmin's face, but it turns into horror when he turns back to Minho. “Were you always this dramatic?” he asks, quickly brushing the tears from Minho’s eyes with the pad of his thumb.

As suddenly as they’d come, the tears dry up, and Minho’s left feeling a little bit silly. “I don’t know,” he says, wiping the last of the damp from his cheeks with the back of his free hand. “I just felt sad.”

“It’s just a song,” Seungmin laughs, incredulous but not mocking.

“But I understood, even though there was no language,” Minho says, slowly. “And then I understood that I would never have to feel that way again.”

Seungmin’s gaze burns through the warm brown of his glamour, and it’s green and gold brilliance that searches Minho’s face. Minho doesn’t know what he finds, but Seungmin lifts their joined hands to his lips, pressing uncharacteristic affection along Minho’s knuckles. “You’re silly,” he says.

“Yooa says you should sing for me so I can dance to it,” Minho suddenly recalls. “We should do that sometime.”

“You’re silly,” Seungmin repeats, and this time he means it.

While Seungmin’s song had blanketed the world around them with music, the sound of Minho’s phone ringing sends birds scattering through the treetops and squawking with displeasure. He shuts off the deafening beats of the loud pop song as he answers it. “Hello?” he says.

“ _Minho. It’s Chan. Is this a good time?”_

 _It’s Chan_ he mouths to Seungmin, who pulls a face that’s somehow both worried and disgusted. “Could be worse. What’s up?”

" _Is Seungmin there?”_

“He’s never not there. Why? Do you need to talk to him?”

“ _No, it’d just be good if he knows this, too.”_ Chan sighs in a burst of static over the phone. “ _It’s about Hyunjin.”_

Minho immediately feels his blood pressure rise. “What _about_ Hyunjin? Do I have to go get him out of Hell now? Is this my new thing? Ow,” he says, because Seungmin’s elbowed him all tetchily.

“ _I’m worried we might all be ending up there,”_ replies Chan, in a poor attempt at a joke. He takes a breath, then says, “ _Minho, he’s trying to find a way to get Yongbok to stay on Earth. I need you to talk him out of it.”_

When Minho hangs up, Seungmin takes one look at his expression and says, “Last bus back to the city is at ten p.m. tonight. If we pack before dinner we’ll be able to make it. We’ll have five hours of sleep, but we can still eat with _halmeonie_ and you’ll still be able to handle your emergency first thing in the morning.”

Minho sighs. So much for no longer yearning, he supposes. _What would I do without you,_ he doesn't say, doesn't have to. “Let’s go home,” is what leaves him instead.

“Let’s go home,” agrees his heart. Once, the big dirt road had taken him away, but now home is ahead of him and beside him, and Minho walks without fear down the path that takes him back to the metal and magic of Seoul. 

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> 2MIN RISE SEND TWEET
> 
> [bird app](https://www.twitter.com/brainedworm)
> 
> 03.10.20: 
> 
> lightbeams is an individual with such incredible range of skills that she has drawn [an entire celestial yongbok](https://twitter.com/divorcedrachas/status/1298187778027446272?s=19)
> 
> h did this incredible art of jeongin, [check it out!!](https://twitter.com/tinywaistliker/status/1312297876458934277?s=19)
> 
> 09.11.20:
> 
> h is a madman and posted two pieces. while i attempt to knock them out you can give their art some love [here](https://twitter.com/tinywaistliker/status/1325478997531111426?s=20) and [here](https://twitter.com/tinywaistliker/status/1325485397095272448?s=20)!


End file.
